The Theory
by SFGrl
Summary: It was just a game... complete
1. Chapter I

**AN:  Okay, the idea just kinda came to me, and it may suck, but…well, I wanted to write it.  This first chapter is sort of a set up, and maybe later I'll actually write a chapter with dialogue (this chapter has NONE!).  It's not necessarily a Chandler-Monica fic…I haven't decided about that yet.  Review, review, review…pleeeeze!**

The Theory 

****

It had gotten out of control.  How, and when it had gotten out of control, no one really knew.  But now, five friends sat inside their favorite coffee shop, trying to recall how it had started, whose idea it was, and what they were going to do next.

They were pretty sure that it was Phoebe's idea, but then, they had all had a hand in it at some point.  

It had been a cold, rainy Saturday night, and they had been sitting around, talking about all kinds of things, when the subject turned to the inevitable topic: relationships.

They started talking about cheating.  Phoebe and Rachel had been convinced that it was in a man's nature to cheat, and, given the opportunity, he would do it, No Matter What.

Ross wanted to argue, but was quickly reminded of the now-famous "Chloe Incident", and was thus quieted.  Joey just nodded along, not really paying much attention to what anyone was saying, as he was still sulking over the fact that _both_ of his dates had cancelled at the last minute, leaving him Dateless on a Saturday for the first time in months.  Adding insult to injury was the fact that his roommate and best friend Chandler was out that night, with girlfriend Kathy, a woman Joey had once dated, but had lost to Chandler—another first.

Chandler was the unfortunate soul who was not present that night, and was, consequently, the one who would become the Guinea Pig for a (wine-laced) poorly thought out plan to prove that men were cheaters.  Rachel, at the time, stated that Chandler was the perfect candidate, since Janice had cheated on him, and that he just didn't seem to have it in him; Phoebe swiftly pointed out that Chandler and Kathy had essentially cheated on Joey, so it really _was_ in him.  

The plan was laid out: Each of the girls, in their own way, would try and seduce Chandler, and as soon as he crumbled, the theory would be proven.  

But, with every theory, there are outside factors that need to be considered. 

That night, they were not.

The first factor was Rachel and Ross.  Rachel's attempts at seduction were actually quite mediocre, but the more she tried, the weirder Ross acted, which made Rachel nervous, and convinced Chandler that one, or both of them either had a drinking problem, or they were dating again, and were fighting again, and Rachel was, in some twisted way, trying to get back at Ross by sitting on Chandler's lap, smiling coyly, and laughing at everything Chandler said.  It soon became apparent that Rachel was getting nowhere with Chandler.

Eventually, Rachel gave up, and Phoebe moved in.

The problem with Phoebe was that she had come on too strong.  Essentially, she scared Chandler away. She grabbed at him, she flirted heavily with him, and one night, she even went so far as to jump him.  He was so freaked out by the incident, he avoided her for a week.

Things really began to unravel when Monica took over.  So intent was she to "win", that she did not consider the consequences.  In flirting with Chandler, Monica took an entirely different approach from Rachel and Phoebe.  She left subtle hints; she sat just a little too close; she stared a little bit longer, and spoke just a little bit softer around him.  

No one considered Chandler's feelings through all of this.  On the night that Chandler had walked into the apartment, and kissed Monica without a word, and without warning, and all anyone could think was that the theory had been proven—Chandler was willing to cheat on Kathy, because Monica had shown an interest. 

And when all was revealed, their ignorance was the reason why they were all so taken aback by his reaction.  

~*~

Chandler sat on the park bench for an immeasurable period of time—hours, perhaps—simply watching the world pass by.  He was still reeling from the revelations from his friends—a plan—an experiment, based on a bet, was the basis for all of the strange behavior he'd been witness to over the past month, including Monica's actions.  He felt…foolish.  How had he not seen all of this before?  He was humiliated, and he took all of it out on his friends.  He felt guilty, for getting so mad over what was essentially a practical joke.  But they'd hurt his pride, and made him look foolish.  He was angry, but more…he was hurting.

Unbeknownst to his friends, Chandler had been having trouble with Kathy; they'd been fighting more, and Chandler had been sure that she was cheating on him.  

It was around this time that Chandler noticed that Monica was acting odd—he wondered, briefly, if he was projecting some kind of weird vibe—first Rachel, then Phoebe, and now Monica—but he quickly laughed off the notion.  He was just being paranoid, right?  His friend's odd behavior made Chandler uncomfortable, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.  He refused to let himself believe that Monica had a crush on him; he would not open _that_ can of worms.  He was finally over his crush on her, and he did **not** want to go back down that road.

But the worse things got with Kathy, the more Chandler wanted to believe that Monica really did have feelings for him.  He began picking up on even the subtlest of hints—and he reveled in the attention.

Chandler didn't tell anyone that he'd broken up with Kathy—he didn't tell anyone that he'd walked in on her with another man.  He was hurting, but he held out hope that Monica's feelings were genuine.  So he went to her apartment, after walking out of Kathy's; he walked over to her, and kissed her.  Nothing could have prepared him for the reaction from everyone—including her.  It was all a joke…an experiment—and he fell for it.   How would he ever be able to face them again? 

The sun was rising, indicating to Chandler that he had been out all night.  He had no desire to go back—to face his snickering friends.  

Unfortunately, he had nowhere else to go.


	2. Chapter II

**AN:  Wow!  I was shocked and…well, let's face it, I was _giddy_ when I saw that my Inbox was full of reviews for this fic! (Getting reviews makes me happy!)  I was really hesitant about posting this one, cuz I thought that it wasn't that good, and they all seemed kinda out of character, and…okay, shutting up, cuz I know no one reads Author's Notes…but THANK YOU for all the great reviews, and I hope that I can live up to your expectations…anyhoo, this is short, but it's the best I could do on short notice…I have to go cook Thanksgiving dinner now, so, Happy T-day!**

_The Theory_

_~Chapter II~_

_They're the ones who'll hate you  
When you think you've got the world all sussed out  
They're the ones who'll spit at you,  
You will be the one screaming out  
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry  
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry  
It's the best thing that you ever had,  
The best thing that you ever, ever had  
It's the best thing that you ever had,  
The best thing you ever had has gone away_

_(High & Dry, Radiohead)_

In all those stories and clichéd movies, there is a certain symbolism behind sunrise: 'the dawning of a new day', a 'new start', a 'fresh perspective'.  The rising sun brings with it 'renewed hope', and a way to 'Begin Again'.

But sometimes, a sunrise is just…a sunrise.

Because for Chandler, everything had changed the night before.  Darkness had fallen over New York City long before his life had been turned upside down.  Everything he thought he knew was wrong, and all of the insecurities he had been fighting since childhood came screaming back at him, taunting him, stinging him.

The last time he felt this kind of betrayal, this kind of hopelessness, was during his parent's divorce.  He remembered sitting in the long, cold, hallowed halls of the courthouse, on a hard, cold marble bench, for hours, while lawyers consulted, and adults he'd never see again—aunts, and uncles and "friends", tried to decide What Was Best For The Boy.  No one bothered to ask him how _he_ felt—no one even paid attention to him, when, convinced that no one really wanted him, he began to cry.  All he really wanted, was his family—he didn't want to be alone anymore.  

For years, Chandler had dreaded the Holidays.  Every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas was a blur to him.  After The Divorce, and even a few times before it, he had spent Christmas' alone, blandly playing with the extravagant gifts his parents bought him to compensate for the fact that they weren't there to see his face when he opened them. It was only when he was out on his own, after college that he began to truly enjoy the holidays.  To him, Joey, Monica, Ross, Rachel and Phoebe were his family—they were all he had, and all he needed.  He clung to them, and loved them, and cared for them like the family he'd always wanted.  Christmas eventually became a joyous time—he didn't need big fancy gifts; In fact one of his favorite Christmas' was a few years ago, when Monica and Rachel made everyone cookies, because they could not afford anything else.  He remembered watching Monica, as she bit her lower lip nervously, offering apologetic glances to her friends.  But above all, he remembered the way her face lit up, when he'd pulled her aside later that night, and told her, in all honesty, that it was the best gift he'd ever received.

It was moments like this that made Chandler smile.  Which was why he was so confused by the recent turn of events.  He loved his friends, and cared about them unconditionally.  How had he been so blind?  Did they not love him?  Respect him?  Thinking back at some of their jokes…and the way that they never seemed to know what was going on with him…how none of them could name his job to save their lives (even though both Joey and Phoebe _had worked with him_ at one point) all of it was now taking form in his mind—he was seeing them in an entirely different light.  My God, what if they really just put up with him because he lived across the hall?  His mind was racing, and his paranoia was quickly spinning out of control.  He wandered aimlessly out of the park, and for the first time since he'd moved into the city, Chandler didn't know where to go.

~*~

He hadn't come home all night.  No one could find him, and he wouldn't answer his cell phone.  Ross and Phoebe had just returned from their "shift", scouring the city—looking everywhere that he may have fled.  They had talked about it, for a long time.  When they had told Chandler about what was going on, for some reason, they all expected a hardy laugh, and a smart-ass remark from Chandler.  Instead, they got a confused stare, a long silence, and a lot of yelling.

No one had ever really seen Chandler yell before.  It was surreal, and a little scary.  He was over-the-top angry, and he had stormed out before anyone had time to react.  At first, they all thought that he was just embarrassed, and they all shrugged it off, and went down to the coffee shop.  But the more they thought about it, the more they realized that Chandler was really upset, and that none of them had been prepared for that reaction.

Now, in the morning light, they all began talking about what most of them had been pondering all night long: Chandler was not upset that they had tricked him—he was upset because he had been betrayed.  Perhaps he had truly believed that Monica had feelings for him—perhaps he had ended things with Kathy because of it.  

They all suddenly realized that they hadn't seen Kathy in weeks.  Even Joey hadn't seen her, and all of them reluctantly confessed that they had not asked Chandler about her, or their relationship.  They had all assumed that Chandler and Kathy were still dating; what if they weren't?  What if Chandler had seen that Monica was interested, and had ruined things with Kathy because of it?

Of course, none of them wanted to admit that they might have ruined their friend's life.

They all sat in the living room of Monica and Rachel's apartment, staring sleepily into space, hoping that Chandler would come back, so that they could explain, and apologize.

How had they allowed this to happen?

The silence in the room was so thick, and so stiff, that the simple rattle of a jiggling doorknob startled them all completely.  The knob turned, and the door swung open slowly, creaking exactly where it always did; the five friends turned, and watched Chandler walk in—and once again, they were unprepared for what stood before him.

His eyes were vacant; his face, expressionless.  His shoulders were slumped in a miserable resignation—he looked like a man who had just Lost Everything.

Little did they know, that he truly believed that he had.


	3. Chapter III

**AN: Man alive, you people rock with reviews on this fic!  LoL.  I guess you can see how a big response inspires, lol.  I SWEAR I am working on the others as well…eh, I kinda hit a wall with a couple of 'em, lol.  Anyhoo, I am gonna add some actual dialog to this story, if you can believe it.  **

**On a totally unrelated note, do any of you know how to cook a ham?  LOL.**

_The Theory_

_~Chapter III~_

The silence in the room was so thick, and so stiff, that the simple rattle of a jiggling doorknob startled them all completely.  The knob turned, and the door swung open slowly, creaking exactly where it always did; the five friends turned, and watched Chandler walk in—and once again, they were unprepared for what stood before him.

His eyes were vacant; his face, expressionless.  His shoulders were slumped in a miserable resignation—he looked like a man who had just Lost Everything.

Little did they know, that he truly believed that he had.

"Chandler, thank God," Monica was the first to speak, "are you okay?"

When Chandler didn't reply, Monica stood up and walked toward Chandler.  He backed up, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his eyes glued to the floor.

"Chandler, about what happened earlier…we didn't…it was just a game," Monica was practically whispering, as the others stood and approached the scene.

Still, Chandler said nothing; his silence was deafening, and was putting everyone on edge.  Another minute of silence passed, before Phoebe finally broke it.

"Chandler, talk to us, please.  Just tell us what we did!  Did you break up with Kathy because of what we did?" Phoebe, in a panic, threw out the theory that they had all been throwing around earlier.

At the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name, Chandler winced visibly.  He took another step back, and swallowed down the bad taste that had formed in his throat.

"Chandler, please say something!" Ross' tone was slightly harsher than he'd intended it to be, most likely because his nerves were so frayed.  None of them had gotten any sleep the night before, and now Chandler was standing here, making them all nervous with his odd behavior.  He saw his sister and the others flinch as he spoke, and knew immediately that he had made a horrible mistake.

Chandler finally looked up at Ross and the others, and as he did, a single tear escaped from his now-glassy sea blue eyes, and rolled unchecked down his face.  His gaze shifted from Ross to Monica, the latter of whom was already in tears with Chandler.

Chandler's dry lips finally parted, and he simply whispered a one-word question.

"Why?"

His friends looked at him with a horrible pity—Chandler suddenly felt the urge to run, but he needed to know; he had to do this now, because he may never get another chance.

For their part, the other five simultaneously looked down at the floor, as all of them dared the others to speak first.  

"Chandler, we—it was a stupid thing to do…we never meant it as a…we didn't realize it—" Monica stuttered out every thought that came to her, but suddenly, no excuse, no reason seemed good enough.

"I _trusted_ you," Chandler's voice was cold, but eerily quiet, "I trusted your friendship…"

"Chandler, it wasn't anything against you," Joey ran his hand through his hair nervously, "It was a stupid bet that got out of control.  The girls were convinced that they could get you to cheat on Kathy—"

"Yes, I know," Chandler cut Joey off, making it clear that he understood the rationale.

And now the others were at a loss.  Chandler understood why they did it, so why was he still so upset?  What had they done to him that was so bad…so _unforgivable_?

"Did you and Kathy break up?" Rachel asked softly, after a short minute.

"Yes," Chandler spat.

"Wh-um, why?  Did we—"

"Did you have something to do with it?" Chandler's smile was as cold as his voice.  He waited a few seconds, looking at each of them, before answering.  "No.  She was sleeping with someone else.  Rather ironic, don't you think?"

"Wow, Chandler, we are sorry—um, when did—"

"Why do you care?" Chandler's voice was shaky and uneven, and he leaned heavily on the front door, as though he suddenly had no strength left in him.

"Chandler, we're your friends, of _course_ we care," Monica stated, as though it should be perfectly obvious.

Chandler laughed bitterly, and shook his head.  He was suddenly very tired.  He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling anymore, but he still had doubts about the people standing in front of him.

"Why do you think that's funny?  Is that why you got so mad?  You thought we were doing this to hurt you?" Monica asked, suddenly angry with Chandler for reacting the way he did.

"How could you ever think that it wouldn't?" Chandler furrowed his brow, confused by Monica's question, and her sudden change in tone.

"Chandler, you're taking what we did personally—" Monica shook her head.

"Why wouldn't I?  You were messing with my mind—with my heart.  Why _wouldn't_ I take it personally?"

"Chandler, please just let it go!  It was nothing!  It meant _nothing_!" Monica wasn't quite sure why she was yelling, but the wounded look on Chandler's face suddenly caused her to retract.  

Another dead silence.  Finally, Chandler stood up straight, and placed a shaky hand on the doorknob.

"It wasn't _nothing_ to me.  But if was really so trivial to you, then you've answered my question," Chandler's voice had fallen again, and his voice was low and raspy.

"Chandler, she didn't mean—" Joey rolled his eyes at the strange circular nature of this conversation; they seemed to be getting nowhere.

"No, Joey, don't," Chandler turned to Monica, "You know Monica, it's funny—it's funny that you should be the one to say that to me.  I mean, I've always wondered whether Phoebe liked me…and sometimes I even wondered about Rachel.  But I always thought you and I were good friends.  I always thought you cared about me."

"Chandler, what are you talking about?  I **do** care about you!" Monica began to panic, as the realization of what she had just done finally began to sink in.

"Friends aren't supposed to treat you like this," Chandler shook his head, "I'm tired of being the invisible one, the one you step on, the one you take for granted," Chandler's voice was grave and lined with frustration.  The others were stunned speechless.

"I've already given Treeger my notice," Chandler looked at Joey as he spoke, and Joey's eyes lit with panic.  "Don't worry, the rent's paid up for two months.  You should be able to find someone else by then," Chandler opened the front door.

"Chandler, don't do this—this is crazy," Joey moved to follow Chandler.

"Don't," Chandler warned Joey, then looked at the others, before sighing deeply.  "I'm tired," he finally said softly, "I'm going to bed.  Leave me alone," Chandler walked out, slamming the door, and leaving his shell-shocked former friends in complete silence.

AN:  Okay…maybe about one or two more chapters…do you think I can crank out an entire multi-chapter fic in one night? LOL.


	4. Chapter IV

AN: Okay, so I went to bed last night before I finished this one, LOL.  I just couldn't stay up anymore!  Anyhoo, THANKS again for the great reviews!!  I am really shocked at the popularity of this one, lol.  On with the show…

_The Theory_

_~Chapter IV~_

Chandler stormed into his apartment, slamming the door as he entered.  He grabbed the counter, steadying himself until his dizzy spell subsided.  He wasn't quite sure what had just transpired, or why he was feeling so completely thrashed.  Deciding that it was probably sleep deprivation, he wandered into his bedroom, and collapsed onto his bed.  He was asleep within minutes.

They stood there, staring at the closed apartment door, for several minutes.  They were stunned by Chandler's revelation, and none of them knew what to make of it.  What they did know, was that they needed to do some major damage control, before Chandler disappeared from their lives completely.

For the next forty-five minutes, the group talked about what had happened, and what they could do to rectify the situation they now found themselves in.  No one agreed on any one way to get through to Chandler, and after several unresolved arguments on the subject, Monica decided that she was just going to talk to him.  She stood up, and without another word, marched over to Chandler and Joey's apartment.

The others followed tentatively, but stayed in the living room when Monica walked into Chandler's bedroom.

He was sprawled out on his bed; his sheets twisted around him, and his clothes crumpled.  He had a strained expression, and a slight sheen of sweat on his face, and his body was jerking slightly.  Feeling responsible for his current miserable state, Monica sat on the edge of his bed, and sighed deeply.

"I'm so sorry, Chandler," she whispered, and gingerly placed her hand on his cheek.

Her brow furrowed, and her hand moved to his forehead; Chandler was burning up.  Perhaps that was why he was behaving so erratically earlier?  He'd looked rather piqued when he'd come back to the apartment, but she'd ignored it because of the situation that they'd been in.

"Chandler?" Monica raised her voice slightly, and bit her lip in concern.  When he didn't respond, she stood and left the room, and immediately swung into action.

"Joey, can you get me a cool, damp cloth?" Monica said in a hurried, stressed tone, as she headed out of the apartment, and into her own.

The others looked at each other quizzically, all wondering what a washcloth had to do with what was going on.

Monica returned minutes later, with a bottle of water and a thermometer.

"He's running a fever.  I think he may have been outside in the cold all night," Monica reasoned, and headed back to the bedroom.

She sat down on the edge of his bed, and placed the thermometer in his mouth.  A few seconds later, Joey emerged with the wet cloth, and handed it to Monica without a word.  He stepped back, and watched as Monica gently patted Chandler's forehead and cheeks with the cloth, before laying it on his forehead for good. She and Joey watched him for a minute more, and then Monica pulled the thermometer from Chandler's mouth, and tipped it into the light.  Squinting slightly, she read, then re-read the instrument, before sighing and dropping her hand into her lap.

"103," she muttered, and placed the back of her hand on Chandler's cheek.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Joey whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah, but we're gonna have to watch him," Monica sighed, and turned over the cloth.

"Maybe that's why he was—"Joey started.

"Maybe," Monica said sadly, "But I think that he really is upset.  I don't want to upset him more while he's so sick, but we can't leave him alone," Monica reasoned aloud.

"What can we do?" Joey stifled a yawn.

"You guys try to get some sleep.  I'll keep first watch," Monica whispered.

"Kay," Joey said, and shuffled out of the room to relay the information to the others.

An hour later, Monica, who was sat on the floor next to Chandler's bed, was fighting to keep her eyes open.  Leaning her head against Chandler's nightstand, she allowed her eyes to close, and was soon drifting off to sleep.

Her restless sleep brought with it dark dreams.  Her unconscious took her back to the 'experiment', but suddenly, she was seeing everything from Chandler's perspective.  Her mind forwarded to the night Chandler had kissed her, and the revelation and fight that had ensued following it.  She finally saw it—she understood.  She saw the hopefulness that lined his eyes when he walked into that apartment, and the devastation that took residence in them when All Was Revealed.  How had she missed it before?  He'd walked in believing that she had feelings for him, and when he finally worked up the courage to act on his own feelings, she and the others had laughed, and told him it was a joke. She'd broken his heart, only hours after Kathy had done the same. It was too much to bear; Monica jolted back into consciousness, looking around frantically as reality came back to her.  She wiped away the tears that had wet her cheeks moments earlier, and sat up on her knees to check on Chandler's condition.  She placed her hand on his face, and noted that he seemed a bit cooler.  She picked up the thermometer, shook it, at placed it in his mouth, before taking the cloth into the kitchen to re-wet it.

Monica walked into the living room, and was surprised to find that none of her friends had left the apartment.  She'd assumed they would have all gone home to get some sleep, but no—they were still here; Ross and Rachel were curled up together on the yellow sofa, and Joey and Phoebe each had a recliner.  Monica smiled, wondering if Joey realized that he could have slept in his own bed, just a few feet away.  A small lump formed in her throat when she realized that he probably _did_ realize it, but he wanted to stay close to the others.  Shaking her head, she moved to the kitchen to wet the cloth.

She returned to Chandler's bedroom, and placed the cloth on his head, before running her hand through his matted hair.  How could she have hurt him so badly, and not even realize it?  She felt more tears threatening to fall, but she quickly shook them off, and pulled the thermometer out of Chandler's mouth.  She squinted at it, surprised to see that it still registered a high fever: 102.  At least it was going down a bit.  She sighed, and sat down on the edge of Chandler's bed.  Running her hands through his hair again, she bit her lip, and let her tears run unchecked down her face.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie.  I had no idea…I finally understand though.  I know why you were so upset.  And I would be too, if it were me.  But we love you, all of us.  Please don't doubt that."

Chandler mumbled something indecipherable, and rolled to his side, his arm flopping across Monica's leg.  Monica smiled, and re-placed the cloth on his head, before scooting down onto the bed with him, and wrapping her arms around him.

"Sleep well," she whispered, in his ear, before drifting into sleep herself.


	5. Chapter V

**_The Theory_**

**_Chapter V_**

It hurt…it hurt…it hurt so bad 

_You were the best man I ever had_

_Why was I so blind to see?_

_Now the biggest fool is me_

_("It Hurt So Bad", Tom Hambridge)_

She watched helplessly from behind the Plexiglas window, as several doctors worked frantically around him.  Her entire body was shaking, partly from the cool air that filled the large white room, and partly from the fear that consumed her. 

Chandler's condition had not improved; in fact, it had worsened, and Monica and the others had been forced to bring him into the Emergency Room.  While the others waited inside the small waiting room, Monica stood against the window, as the doctors worked frantically to save their friend. 

Suddenly, the hurried movements of the doctors and nurses halted, and the doctor standing with her back to Monica looked up at the clock on the wall in front of her.  The doctor turned and walked out of the room, and as the door opened, Monica could hear the constant, flatling of the heart monitor.  Another doctor followed the first, and the two stopped to talk to each other, neither one acknowledging Monica's presence.

"It's too bad," the first doctor said, "he was so young."

"Yes," the other doctor concurred, "but he didn't really have any friends or family."

"No, he has us!" Monica approached the doctors, but they completely ignored her.

"Stop!  Tell me what happened, please!" Monica moved to follow the doctors through the brown swinging doors.  As she passed through, she suddenly found herself standing in a cemetery.  She looked around, and saw that she was totally alone.  She turned, and saw a small stone headstone in front of her.  She looked at it, and shook her head furiously, as she registered the words:

_~Chandler M. Bing~_

_No Family; No Friends_

_          Unloved_

"No!" Monica cried out, and began kicking at the headstone, "It's not true!  No!"

"Monica, wake up."

Monica awoke with a gasp, and blinked several times, trying to focus her eyes.  She looked up at Chandler, and felt her heart leap.

"Chandler!  You're okay," she whispered, and sat up slightly, before pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Monica, what are you doing here?" Chandler asked softly, as he pulled away from Monica slowly.

Monica took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands, as the events of the past several hours came back to her.  She bit her lower lip nervously.

"I—we were worried about you.  You had a really high fever, and—"

"I feel better now," Chandler said quickly, and swung his legs off of the bed, before standing up slowly.

"Let me check your temperature again," Monica said, as she scooted off of the bed and grabbed the thermometer.

"I'm fine, Monica," Chandler said softly, but swayed slightly, as a dizzy spell hit him.

"Chandler, please lay back down, you're very sick," Monica pleaded.

Chandler, his head heavy, nodded resignedly and laid back down on the bed.  Monica placed the thermometer in his mouth, and placed her hand on his forehead.

"I'll be right back," she whispered, and walked out into the living room.

Monica let out a deep breath, as she walked into the living room; her dream had shaken her up, and Chandler's cold demeanor had not helped matters.  Trembling slightly, she filled a glass with ice water and headed back toward the bedroom.

"Mon, how is he?" Ross mumbled from the sofa.

"He's awake, but he's—he's not very happy to see me," Monica smiled sadly, and walked back into Chandler's bedroom.

"Who aw yul tawkin to?" Chandler attempted to talk with the thermometer under his tongue.

"I was talking to Ross," Monica said, as she pulled the thermometer from Chandler's mouth, "They're all really worried about you."

Chandler shook his head, and huffed in disbelief loudly.

"99.8," Monica said, "You're staying put."

"I feel alright; you don't need to stay," Chandler whispered.

"Chandler," Monica sat down on Chandler's bed, "we need to talk."

"I think we've talked enough," Chandler mumbled.

"I know why you were so angry," Monica ignored Chandler, and continued, "and I am so, so sorry, I hurt you like that."

"Monica—"

"No, please, just listen.  When you came in that night, I was so consumed with that stupid game that I failed to see the reasons behind what you were doing.  It was a horrible thing to do, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am.  I never meant to make you feel…I never meant to make you think that you were less than you are.  Please don't leave, Chandler."

Chandler was quiet for a long moment.  He looked at Monica, and then back down at his blanket, before he spoke.

"I …It's my fault too, I guess, for believing that you could…that you were attracted to me," Chandler shrugged.

"No, it's not your fault at all!  And it's not all that far fetched, you know, the idea that I could be attracted to you.  You happen to be quite a catch," Monica smiled.

"Yeah, right," Chandler laughed, and shook his head.

Monica scooted closer to Chandler, and cupped his face in her hands.

"You _are_ quite a catch," she whispered, and kissed him softly on the lips.

Monica slowly deepened the kiss, and felt Chandler wrap his arms around her waist.  Just as the kiss was growing more passionate, Chandler pushed Monica away, and looked back down at the blanket.

"Whoa," Monica said under her breath, as she studied Chandler's demeanor.

"I'm sorry," Chandler mumbled.

"_I _kissed _you_, you shouldn't be sorry," Monica said softly.

"I—I think I just want to sleep for a while," Chandler refused to look up at Monica; instead, he scooted down his bed, and lay on his side, his back to Monica.

"Okay…I'll check in on you a little later," Monica said sadly, and moved toward the door.

"Oh, and Chandler?  That was one hell of a kiss," Monica smiled, and left the room.

Chandler closed his eyes, and groaned softly.  He would not fall for this again, he couldn't; why were they doing this to him?  But there was another part of him—a little voice inside his head that was telling him that he should stay, and give his friends the benefit of the doubt.  Perplexed, and unsure which voice to listen to, Chandler fell into a restless slumber, his dreams full of consequences and possibilities.

Monica walked into her apartment, and sunk into her sofa, her mind reeling; she was suddenly seeing Chandler in a new light, a thought that scared and excited her.  She felt something entirely new with that kiss—something unexpected, and something she'd never felt before.  She wondered if this was how Chandler had felt, when he had kissed her the night before.  And she wondered if she'd ruined her chance with him, by betraying him.  She soon drifted to sleep, dreaming of Chandler, and praying he'd still be there when she woke up again.

**AN: Yep, it's short, but I am trying to wrap it up.  I'll probably get out one more chapter, and perhaps an epilogue, hopefully before the weekend is up.  Hope you all had a nice holiday…don't eat too much! LOL.**


	6. Chapter VI

**_The Theory_**

Chapter VI 

~_The Next Morning_~

Chandler opened his eyes slowly, and tried to ignore the way that his eyeballs seemed to be thumping rhythmically against his eyelids.  It was as though two tiny drummers were beating on his eyelids from deep within his head.  The thought of tiny drummers made Chandler smile a bit, but his smile quickly faded when he sat up and felt the 'elephant' that seemed to be sitting on top of his head.  He stretched slowly, and climbed out of bed, before looking around his room.  He was alone at the moment, but evidence that Monica had been there throughout the night was scattered around the room; a fresh glass of water, an extra blanket, a clean, damp cloth.  Chandler sighed and opened his bedroom door.

Just as he'd expected, Monica was sat in his brown leather recliner.  Joey was asleep on the other recliner, and Ross, Rachel and Phoebe were eating in the kitchen.

"Is this an intervention or something?" Chandler mumbled hoarsely.  Under any other circumstance, his joke would have been taken as just that—a joke.  But there wasn't a trace of good humor in Chandler's voice, and consequently, the statement sucked the humor out of the room, and replaced it with lead-heavy tension.

"How are you feeling?" Monica stood up, and approached Chandler.  She stopped, when she saw his body tense, and his face contort.

"Better.  I need a shower though," Chandler said quickly, and walked into the bathroom without another word.

He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for several minutes; until the steam from the shower water he'd turned on when he'd entered started to steam up the glass.  He wasn't sure he could do this—he wasn't sure he wanted this confrontation.  But he knew that his friends weren't going anywhere until they Talked To Him.  He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and decided to face the inevitable…after a long, hot shower.

Chandler opened the door, and clouds of steam followed him out of the bathroom.  Clean, and in fresh sweats, he felt better physically, but was not looking forward to talking to everyone about 'how he felt'.  He plopped down onto the sofa, and looked up to see Phoebe standing over the couch, looking at him.  Ross and Rachel stood in the kitchen, but were still looking at him as well; Monica sat on the other end of the sofa, playing with a renegade string on her sweater; Joey was still sound asleep in his chair.

Chandler smiled, as he recalled the day that Joey had named his chair 'Rosita'.  Chandler was the only other person who knew about the name—in fact he was the only one who knew about a lot of Joey's strangely endearing quirks—quirks that Joey didn't want getting out, for fear of 'ruining his reputation'.  Chandler's smile faltered, when he let in the dark thought that he really _wasn't_ the only one who knew about Rosita…that perhaps Phoebe, or even Ross knew about it, too.  Suddenly, the profound friendship that he had with Joey seemed tainted, somehow.  He was jarred from his thoughts by Phoebe, who was now sitting on the recliner that Monica had vacated.

"Chandler, we are really sorry about what we did—"

"It's not about that…I mean…it…it's not just about that.  I feel like…" Chandler trailed off.

"What?  Chandler, please tell us what we did," Ross said.

"Look, it's not just one thing, ya know?  I mean, I feel like…you guys are only here because I told you I was leaving…the thing is, this stuff has been building for a while now…ever since…" Chandler shook his head irritably.

"Ever since…what?" Rachel asked softly.

"It doesn't matter," Chandler mumbled.  Then out loud he said, "I feel sometimes like…like I don't …_belong_ here."

"What?  What are you talking about?" varied replies came from various friends.

"I just…sometimes I feel like you guys don't even really know me, ya know?  I mean…I guess that's partly my fault, for… you know, being the way I am, but…"

"Chandler, what are you talking about?" Ross grabbed a green stool, and carried it closer to the sofa before sitting on it; Rachel slowly followed suit.

"You don't even know what I do for a living," Chandler retorted, exasperated by his friend's inability to see what he saw.

"Yes, we do!  You're a data…something," Rachel said.

Chandler shook his head, and continued, "It's…not important, I guess.  I just…I sometimes feel like I could just…disappear, and no one would be the wiser."

"Chandler, we _all_ feel like that sometimes," Ross said slowly.

"No this is…this is different," struggling to explain himself, Chandler sighed and decided to use examples.

"I remember…a few years ago, I was bringing up some laundry for Monica, and I was gonna walk into her apartment, but I heard Rachel and Phoebe talking…and…I just remember that they were talking about me.  And it wasn't so much _what_ they said, but _how_ they said it.  It's like…Phoebe, I'm sorry, but it's like you just put up with me because I live with Joey…or across from Monica…"

"Is that what you think?" Phoebe's voice was shaking, and she wilted down onto the floor, and pulled her knees up toward her chest defensively.  She suddenly looked very small and child-like.

"Sometimes…I'm sorry, I just…don't think you respect me or something…maybe because I'm kinda weak or…"

"Chandler, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't hang out with you—ever.  I know you don't realize it, but you and I are soul mates!"

Chandler's eyes widened, and Monica's head shot up, her eyes boring jealous holes into Phoebe's skull.  Phoebe took note of Monica's reaction, and smiled inwardly.

"No, no, calm down—not like _that_," Phoebe smiled ruefully, and continued, "We're like soul—friends, I guess."

"What are you talking about?" Ross looked at Phoebe crossly.

"Chandler and I have been friends in all of our past lives," Phoebe said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Ross shook his head, but Chandler sat quietly, intrigued by what Phoebe was saying.

"We've always known each other.  We were pirates together.  We were in the Civil War together.  And in World War I.  Although, we were French during that one," Phoebe smiled at Chandler, as though she were expecting him to back her story up.

"That's—"

"Ross, shut up!" Rachel warned, and looked at Phoebe, urging her to continue.

"Chandler, we've always been there for each other…and we always will be.  You think I don't respect you, but you don't see what I see.  You saved my life once, many lifetimes ago, and I still need to pay you back for that.  Our souls are bound…so you see, even if you leave me…I'll always find you," Phoebe stated, in all seriousness.  She looked over at Chandler, and, for the briefest moment, she saw a set of gray-blue eyes looking back at her—eyes that belonged the man that had saved her 700 years earlier.  In a blink, they were gone—replaced by the steely blue ones that belonged to Chandler—the current reincarnation of her soul mate.

"That's…interesting," Chandler finally said, and sat back.

"You've always been a good person too, Chandler," Phoebe continued, as she realized that Chandler was not one hundred percent convinced, "and I do respect you.  You think that I think you're weak…but Chandler, I see the things you do everyday; things that make other people's day.  You do it without asking, and sometimes, you don't always know that you're doing it.  But I've seen it, lots of times.  You think we don't notice the way you are always helping out, or making one of us laugh or smile when we've had a down day?  I mean, you just said, in your story, that you were_ bringing Monica her laundry!_  And you should hear the way Joey talks about you.  He's asleep right now, because he was up most of the night, worried about you, and worried that you were leaving.  He loves you like a brother, and he feels awful that he hasn't shown it more.  

Chandler, it takes a real man to put himself before others constantly.  But that's what you do.  That's what you do everyday, without even realizing it.  And the funny thing is, you're _still _doing it, even now!  You are sitting there, feeling guilty that you made _us_ feel bad, even though we all know perfectly well that we all _deserve_ to feel bad!"

Chandler stared at Phoebe in wonderment.  _How did she know that?_  Maybe she really was psychic after all.

"The problem is, because you put yourself before everyone, you run the risk of becoming _invisible_.  But that's not your fault.  You only become invisible, when _others_ take you for granted.  And that's what we've all done.  We've taken you for granted.  We take for granted the fact that you pay most of Joey's bills, that you are _always_ there for us when we need you, that you listen to all of our problems, and rarely weigh us down with yours.  We take for granted the way that you care for us, and this past month, we took your feelings for granted.  It _won't _happen again." Phoebe sighed, as she sat back and waited for Chandler's reply.

It was quiet for a long minute, before Chandler finally looked at Phoebe and replied.

"The thing is—it's not that easy.  It _will_ happen again, unless I put a stop to it.  I need…time…distance.  Maybe not geographically—maybe I won't move out the city—but it can't be like it was before…I doubt it could ever be.  I'm sorry, Phoebe, I know that you mean well, but I just don't—"

"Then what can we do?  What can we say?  How many times do we have to say we're sorry for being so stupid?" Ross asked, exasperated.

"Nothing, Ross, there's nothing you can do.  There's nothing you can say, because it's all been said and done.  You can say what you want, but it's already out there—the damage has been done.  I need time and space to recover—to heal.  I know you don't understand, but if you care about me like you say you do, then you'll let me go.  You'll let me do this—without question."

Monica stifled a cry; she was sure she could hear her heart breaking.  She did not realize how much she loved Chandler until that moment—until he was out of reach…until he was gone.

And she knew the others felt exactly the same way.


	7. Chapter VII

**_The Theory_**

**_Chapter VII_**

Maybe I didn't treat you 

_Quite as good as I should have_

_Maybe I didn't love you _

_Quite as often as I could have_

_Little things I should have said and done_

_I just never took the time_

_You were always on my mind_

You were always on my mind 

_(Always on My Mind, by Wayne Thompson/Mark James/Johnny Christopher)_

They helped him pack—reluctantly.  They knew that it was the best thing that they could do for him; to support his decision…to let him go.  None of them wanted it, but they all knew he needed time, and they were willing to do anything to make his see how much they cared about him.

He sat in the center of the sea of cardboard—he never realized he had so much stuff!  The others had retreated to Monica and Rachel's for pizza a few minutes earlier.  He stayed behind, claiming he had to finish something, and that he'd be over soon.  But the truth was, he didn't want to go over there, eat pizza, and pretend that everything was okay.  He sighed, as he scanned the boxes that surrounded him—he was relieved to be alone for a moment.  He knew they all wanted to help—that they all wanted to make sure he was going to be okay.  Ross had helped him find a new apartment, and Rachel and Phoebe had helped him shop for new furniture (he'd insisted on leaving all of his other furniture with Joey).  Monica kept cooking and freezing food for him—like he was totally incapable of caring for himself!  He was, after all, only moving across town—and he was an adult, and fully capable of taking care of himself.

He'd been taking care of himself for years—as an only child of a nasty divorce, he'd had no other choice.

Chandler was pulled from his thoughts when the apartment door opened.  He assumed it was Monica, coming over to coax him into eating with them.

It wasn't Monica; it was Joey.

"Hey," Joey said quietly.

"Hey," Chandler replied, then cocked his head to the side, "You guys outta pizza already?"

"I…wasn't hungry," Joey said, as he leaned up against the counter.

Chandler let out a snort-like laugh, then sobered when he saw that Joey wasn't kidding.

"Look, Chandler I know that you need time and stuff, but I—this is weird for me, ya know?"

"Joey, I know I'm just kind of ditching you, and I am sorry about that.  Look, if you have any trouble paying bills, give me a call, okay?"

"I'm not worried about bills, or the rent…I just…I don't want to lose my roommate!  Who am I gonna talk to late at night?  Who's gonna watch _Baywatch_ with me?"

"Joey—"

"No!  I know you need time and space and stuff.  But why do you have to move away?  I mean, I can give you space, and I promise you won't _always_ have to go to the coffee house with us…" Joey's voice was full of desperation.

"I can't Joe, it doesn't work like that—"

"But why not?"

"Because it can't, okay?" Chandler yelled, letting his agitation get the better of him, "I can't do this with you in the next room, and with Monica—" Chandler stopped abruptly and lowered his eyes, but it was too late—Joey caught on.

"What?  What about Monica?  This is bigger than just our friendship, isn't it?  Do you still have a thing for her?"

Chandler looked up sharply, trying to hide the shock on his face.  How did Joey know about his crush on Monica?  Chandler shook his head, as he recalled the night several years ago, when he'd gotten drunk, and spilled his guts to Joey.  Why had he done that?

_Because, you idiot, you trusted him—and look where it got you._

"I don't have a thing for her—I" Chandler shook his head, and resumed packing, "It doesn't matter.  I have my reasons, and you all promised to honor them."

"I just—I just wish you could let this go," Joey said quietly.

"I wish I could too, Joe—but you went too far.  I'm sorry."

_~One Year Later~_

Chandler fumbled with his shopping bags and his keys, as he struggled to open his apartment door.  He finally managed to get the door open, and he placed the bags on the kitchen table, before flipping on the lights.

"Holly?" Chandler called out, scanning the apartment as he pulled groceries out of the bags, "Holly, where are you?"

Holly emerged from the bedroom, and stretched lazily, before sauntering into the kitchen.

Chandler finished putting away his food, then pulled out a can opener.

"You hungry, baby?" Chandler asked sweetly, as he picked up the large dark gray cat and placed her on the counter.  She watched intently, as Chandler opened her food.  

Holly had been a gift from Chandler's mother.  He'd called her, about a month after moving from Joey's place, and when Nora had found out that Chandler was now living alone, she brought Holly over to keep him company.  Nora claimed that she had named the cat Holly because the cat was born on Christmas, but Chandler knew that Nora had always loved the name; _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ was Nora's favorite all time movie, and she had, on more than one occasion, lamented that she had never had a little girl to name Holly.  Chandler thanked his lucky stars that she hadn't named _him_ Holly. 

When Nora had first brought Holly over, Chandler wasn't very thrilled; he was never much of an animal person.  But he soon grew very attached to Holly, and looked forward to seeing her when he came home at night.  He felt he could rely on Holly, even when he couldn't rely on anyone else. 

Chandler placed the food and the cat on the floor, then wandered into the living area, and saw the blinking light on his answering machine.  

"Who called today, Holly?" Chandler asked aloud.  He hit the button, and listened to the familiar beep.

"You have three new messages," said the machine in a robotic, yet friendly tone.  Another beep, followed by; 

"Hi Chandler, it's Ross.  I uh, I wasn't sure if you remembered that Monica's birthday was coming up, or if you even wanted to come over, but…anyway, we're having a party for her next Friday, and it's a surprise sort of thing, but I know she'd love to have you there…we would all love to have you there.  Anyway, give me call if you can make it…555-3642.  See ya."

Beep.

"Hey Chandler, it's Phoebe.  Um, I don't know if Ross had called you about Monica's birthday, but anyway it's coming up and…"

Chandler shook his head, and tuned out most of the rest of Phoebe's message.  Of course he'd remembered Monica's birthday…he never forgot their birthdays.  He looked over at his desk, and saw the neatly wrapped box sitting on top of a stack of bills.  Yes, he'd remembered.

Chandler did not completely cut off contact with the others, but he rarely saw them anymore.  He would show up for major holidays and birthdays, but the daily rituals—breakfast and dinner at Monica's, coffee at Central Perk, 'movie Wednesday'—he never attended them anymore.  Funny thing was, those were the things he missed most.

It had been about three months since he'd seen the group, and about four since he'd seen Monica.  She wasn't able to make it to the last get-together, (Joey's birthday) because of a work emergency.  Chandler was really looking forward to catching up with Monica, although he tried to tell himself otherwise.

Beep.

"Chandler, it's your mother.  Um, can you call me back when you get this?  I'm afraid I have some bad news, sweetie."

~***~

"I'm telling you Ross, she is not going to like that," Rachel was standing in Ross' living room, looking at the hideous sweater he'd picked out for his sister.

"Well then you will just have to come with me, 'cause I can't do this!" Ross whined, tossing the sweater into the bag.

"Okay, okay, calm down, sweetie," Rachel wrapped her arms around Ross' neck and kissed him softly.

Ross and Rachel had resumed dating not long after Chandler had left.  They both realized just how fragile relationships—particularly friendships—were, and they leaned a lot on each other for the first few months after Chandler's departure.

The phone rang, forcing Ross to break the kiss, and pull away from Rachel.

"Hello?" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"Ross?  It's Chandler."

"Oh, hey Chandler," Ross shot Rachel a look, and she moved closer to listen in on the conversation.

"Is this a bad time?" Chandler asked.

"No!  No, not at all…what's up, man?"

"I…I got your message and…actually, Phoebe called me too, so could you just pass along a message to her, too?  Uh, look, I…I won't be able to make it to Monica's party."

"What?  Why?" Ross asked, shocked.

"I…uh—"

"Chandler, she's gonna be so disappointed," Rachel said softly, careful not to unnerve Chandler.

"I know…I'll try to call her.  I want to come, I do, but—"

"Then come!  She—we all really want to see you," Rachel said.

"I can't.  I, uh, I have to fly to Las Vegas to see my Dad.  Can you, um, can you tell her I'm sorry?"

"Try to give her a call, and tell her yourself," Ross said coldly, annoyed at Chandler's lame excuse for missing Monica's party.

"Ross!" Rachel hissed, then turned to the phone, "Chandler, we'll tell her, okay?"

"Thanks.  I uh, I have to go.  I'm sorry," Chandler hung up the phone.

"Ross, why were you so rude?" Rachel asked, as she hung up the receiver.

"He's obviously lying, Rach.  Chandler hates his dad, he'd never go to Vegas to see him!"

"You don't know that," Rachel shook her head.

"Well, let's go tell Monica what he said—I'm sure she'll agree with me."

"I'll bet she won't," Rachel mumbled, as she followed Ross out the door.

~***~

"Look, if he doesn't want to come, he doesn't want to come, okay?  I'm not going to make a big deal of it," Monica shrugged, her voice just barely hiding the disappointment she felt regarding Chandler's decision.

"But Vegas?  Surely he knows that we know him better than that," Ross shook his head.

Monica's head shot up, and she grabbed her phone book off of the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing?" Ross looked at his sister, puzzled.

"Calling Nora.  I'm sure she knows what's going on," Monica flipped through the phone book.

"Are you guys crazy?" Joey looked up from the food he had been consuming.  The others looked at him in shock—they thought he had been too busy eating to pay attention to their conversation.  "Chandler is finally starting to trust us again—things are relatively good between us—and now you're going to ruin it by checking up on him!  If he says he's going to Vegas, then fine, he's going to Vegas!" Joey yelled, exasperated.

"You're right Joe," Monica said softly, then moved to pick up the phone, "But I want to go to Vegas for my birthday—it wouldn't hurt to catch up with an old friend would it?"

The mischievous twinkle in Monica's eye scared Joey—they were taking a huge risk, doing this to Chandler.  Would he be happy to see him?  Or would they ruin everything they had worked for the past year?  Joey felt a flutter in his stomach, and dropped his fork, as he watched Monica dial Nora Bing's phone number.  He watched her pace up and down the room, biting her nails.

Monica was doing something that could very well drive Chandler away for good—yet she was willing to take the chance.  Joey wondered what could possibly be driving her to take such an enormous risk now.  He watched her as she contemplated her actions, and a realization hit him—she was doing this for reasons no one could understand—reasons that scared Joey, and may soon destroy Chandler.

He prayed that his theory was wrong.

**AN: Uh, this is taking longer to resolve than I thought it would—am I losing you all yet?**

**I'm sure you all got the _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ reference, but just in case you didn't—Holly Golightly is the name of Audrey Hepburn's character in the film.**


	8. Chapter VIII

**_AN:_**_ "There could be a subcategory of Friends fanfic labeled 'Chandler Torture' - the poor guy, I think he's hurt, killed, abandoned, and betrayed far more than any of the other characters_."—So true, Jess, so true!  I think we should start up that subcategory…me and Monica-Bing can moderate, LOL.  Well, if you all thought he was tortured before, you ain't seen nothin' yet!!  LOL.  

_The Theory_

_Chapter VIII_

_One more point of contention_

_I need some intervention_

_Approached with vague intentions_

_Betray my short attention_

_Span the distance_

_Bridge the border_

_Beg forgiveness_

_Round the corner_

_("Everytime I Look For You"~Blink 182)_

"Have you heard from Nora yet?" Rachel asked, as she and Ross walked into Monica's apartment.

"Not yet," Monica said, as she put the finishing touches on her crème brulee. 

"Well, we've booked our tickets, so I guess no matter what, we're spending your birthday in Vegas," Ross laughed.

"Vegas, baybee!" Joey yelled, as he walked into the apartment.

"Sounds like you've changed your mind about Vegas, huh Joey?" Rachel asked.

"Well, I think someone needs to make sure Chandler doesn't get hurt again," Joey said gravely, looking directly at Monica as he spoke, "But yeah, I think we could have some fun."

"C'mon, Rach, let's go!" Monica stood at the front door, her plane ticket and cab fare in hand.  She was anxious to get going—the faster they got to Vegas, the better.  Monica had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to see Chandler, and she wasn't really sure why.  Sighing heavily, she was about to yell at Rachel again when the phone rang.

"Got it!" Monica yelled, and rushed toward the phone.

"Hello? Oh, hi Nora…"

"Hey, are we going, or what?" Joey appeared in the doorway, and was shortly followed by Ross and Phoebe.  Rachel emerged from her bedroom, several bags in hand, and shot Ross a look.  He picked up on it, and made his way across the room to help her.

"Mon, c'mon, get off the phone, we gotta go," Ross said, as he moved toward the front door with Rachel and her multiple bags.

Monica hung up the phone, and turned to look at her friends.  Her face was remarkably pale, and her eyes were lined with tears.

"Mon, what's going on?" Phoebe moved forward.

"Chandler's in Vegas.  His father is dying," Monica's lower lip trembled, as she relayed the news to her friends.  She now understood why she felt the need to be with Chandler now, more than ever.

The group could not get to the airport fast enough.

~***~

Chandler was slumped in the faded green vinyl chair, listening to the rhythmic beeping of his father's heart monitor.  Chandler wasn't even sure that his father knew he was here.  He'd only been conscious for a minute, and Chandler wasn't sure that Charles had registered his presence.  Sighing heavily, Chandler leaned forward, and studied the face of the man that he had spent so many years despising.  For years, Chandler had blamed his father for the divorce—for making his own life miserable.  But in this moment—looking at his father's ghostly white complexion, his sunken cheeks, and his gaunt face—Chandler could not recall why he'd refused to speak to his father for so many years.  Was it embarrassment? Was it really so bad, having a cross-dressing, gay father?  Chandler took his father's bony hand in his, and sighed heavily.

It was time to let all of his insecurities go.

"Chandler?" Charles' voice was raspy and weak, and barely coherent.

"Hi…Dad," Chandler smiled warmly, and gave Charles' hand a light squeeze.

"You came…I didn't think you'd—" Charles was cut off by a fierce coughing fit.

"Yeah, I came.  I'm sorry, Dad.  I'm sorry I didn't come see you…I'm sorry I said I was too busy when you came to New York…" Chandler let his tears fall unchecked down his face, no longer caring that his voice had cracked, and he sounded more like the small, lost child he'd felt like all those years ago, in the courthouse.

"Shh…it's alright, son…I know…"

"Don't go…" Chandler pleaded stubbornly.

"Chandler…you'll be okay…I'm so proud of you, son…"

"Dad…dad?"

Charles closed his eyes, and soon fell into a coma from which he would never wake.

Chandler stifled another sob, and placed his head on the edge of his father's bed.  Why did he always wait until it was too late to tell the people he loved how he felt about them?  He loved his father…but he never told him.  Whispering the words into his father's comatose ear, Chandler stood up, and stumbled out of the hospital room, and into the hallway.  Charles' partner Will placed a heavy, warm hand on Chandler's shoulder, as the latter dropped his head, resigned to the fact that he would never get another chance to speak to his father.  He took a deep breath, and looked up into Will's deep brown eyes. He'd never really known this man, but somehow, being around the man that his father had spent the last fifteen years with was reassuring; Will had a calmness about him—perhaps it was an acceptance that Chandler had yet to find.  Unbeknownst to Chandler, Charles Bing had been sick for several years.  Will had come to accept his limited time with Charles, and had cared for him until the very end.  Chandler suddenly envied Will; this man knew more about his father than he did.  But Chandler knew he had no one to blame for that fact but himself.  Closing his eyes to center himself, he opened them only when he heard Will's gravely voice.

"He loves you, very much."

"I know," Chandler sighed.   He gave Will a warm smile, before turning to walk down the long, cold corridor toward the waiting room.

He looked up, and was taken aback, but not totally shocked, by the sight before him: several feet away, stood his five friends.

Chandler walked down the hall slowly and deliberately, his heart heavy, and his eyes bloodshot.  He felt Monica draw him into a hug, and numbly wrapped his arms around her.  He felt like sinking to the ground, and sobbing like a child, but he didn't; he simply stood there, in her embrace, for several minutes.  When he finally pulled away, his shoulders were trembling.  Chandler looked at his friends, and smiled warmly.

"You came…you're here," was all he could say.

"Chandler…we're so sorry," Monica whispered, and pulled him into a hug once more.  

Chandler could no longer hold in all that he was feeling.  His father…his friends…his unresolved feelings for Monica…they had reached a boiling point, and Chandler could not take it anymore.  He broke down completely, and was only vaguely aware of four other sets of arms taking hold of him, and supporting him in that moment.

"How is he?" Ross finally asked.  The six friends had retreated to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of vending machine coffee.

"He's…he probably won't make it through the night," Chandler said in a small voice.

"Is he…how long has he been sick?" Joey asked softly.

"A long time.  When he came down with Pneumonia last week, Will just knew…his immune system is gone…"

"How are _you_ holding up?" Phoebe asked, squeezing Chandler's hand.

"Okay…I've been better…I'm glad you guys are here.  How did you know?"

"Nora…she called," Monica said quickly, trying to avoid the tiny fact that they had called her first, to check up on Chandler.

"Oh," was all Chandler said, as he turned his coffee cup in his hand slowly.

~***~

It was unbearably hot, the day of the funeral.  Monica shifted uncomfortably in her seat, sweating profusely, as the minister droned on and on about the afterlife.  

The church was packed; drag queens, family members, and longtime "Helena Handbasket" devotees fanned themselves with their funeral programmes, each of them praying that the service would be short, and cursing the makers of the church for not installing air-conditioning.  Monica sighed, and shifted again, as her skirt stuck stubbornly to her thighs.  She looked across the aisle, and noted that Chandler and Will both seemed unaffected by the uncomfortable atmosphere.  Both were sweating, but neither seemed to care.  They both stared blankly at the casket that was sitting in the front of the church.  Monica felt a wave of guilt rush through her, and immediately stopped fussing with her clothes.

Feeling her eyes on him, Chandler turned and met Monica's eyes.  Monica gave him a reassuring, sympathetic smile, which Chandler acknowledged vaguely.  He turned back toward the service, but carried Monica's image in his head…a reminder that he had more issues to resolve.

Monica wandered out into Charles' backyard, and spotted Chandler, seated on a small stone bench.  She walked toward him slowly, then took a seat on the other end of the bench.  

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Chandler looked up at her, then beyond her, to the house.  She turned and looked at the group that had gathered inside for the post-funeral festivities.

"I don't really know any of them…they were his best friends…" he said sadly.

"They all know you," Monica said vaguely.  She'd overheard one or two conversations about 'Charles' Estranged Son'.

"Yeah," Chandler sighed, and dug his toe into the red dirt that surrounded the bench.

"How long are you planning to stay here?"

"I dunno.  You guys don't have to stay, if you need to get back," Chandler smiled politely.

"No, we'll stay as long as you want us to.  We booked open-ended tickets."

"I appreciate that," Chandler smiled.

"Chandler, I…I have to tell you something.  I just…I feel like if we…if we are going to rebuild our friendship, then I want to be totally honest with you."

"Okay," Chandler suddenly felt his stomach flutter.

"When Nora called…about your Dad…we, um…we were already on our way to the airport."

"What?" Chandler asked, confused.

"We…we wanted to see you, and you said you couldn't come to the party…"

"Wait…did you not believe me?" Chandler's eyes flashed.

"No, it wasn't like that…I—"

"You figured that since I never talk to my Dad, I was making up an excuse?"

"No!  Well—"

"I don't believe this," Chandler stood up abruptly, and ran his hand through his hair.

"Chandler, wait!  Look, I just…I hadn't seen you in so long…I missed you and I really wanted to see you…"

"Well it wasn't like I was _moving_ to Vegas!"

"I know, I just—"

"What was so urgent that you couldn't wait for me to bury my Dad?"

"I just needed to see you!"

"Why?" Chandler's eyes filled with rage and disappointment.

"I missed you…I **love** you, and I just—"

"What?" Chandler stepped toward Monica slowly.

Monica replayed her last statement in her head.  Oh God, what had she done?  She shook her head, and looked up at Chandler, tears escaping her eyes.

"I love you," she whispered again.

Chandler felt his heart lurch, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.  He looked around for the others, but no one else was there.  Swallowing hard, he stood up straight, and waited for the punch line to Monica's new joke.  She said nothing.  Chandler closed his eyes, and took a shaky breath.  Then, without a word, he bolted for the house, disappearing into the mourning crowd.


	9. Chapter IX

**_The Theory_**

**_Chapter IX_**

_Be not far from me; for trouble _is_ near; for _there is_ none to help._

_~Psalms 21:11_

Joey looked up in time to see Chandler dart across the room, looking pale and shaken up.  He looked out the kitchen window, and saw that Monica was sitting alone in the backyard, and that she was sobbing.  Joey momentarily debated over which friend to comfort.

That moment was slight, to say the least.

Joey darted upstairs, and soon found Chandler, pacing back and forth in the guest room, muttering incoherently.

"Chandler?" Joey stood in the doorway tentatively.

"Go away Joey," Chandler said gruffly.

"Chandler, what's going on?"

"Joey, tell me something.  Why did you come out here, really?  Was it because you didn't trust that this is where I'd be?" Chandler yelled.

"Chandler, I swear to you, that is not why I came.  Yes, we found out about your Dad afterward, but I really think there are bigger reasons here—"

"She said she was in love with me," Chandler said quietly, cutting Joey off.

"What?"

"Monica.  She said she's in love with me."

Joey closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping slightly.  He knew it.  It was his greatest fear, coming to pass.  He opened his eyes slowly, and watched, as Chandler sunk down onto his bed.

"What did you tell her?" Joey asked slowly.

"Nothing.  I couldn't—I didn't know what to say.  I thought—I didn't know what to think, actually," Chandler shook his head.

"Do you—I mean, how do you feel?"

"I don't know," Chandler sighed.

"Do you love her?" Joey asked.

"I…I used to.  I don't know anymore," Chandler said, though the tone of his voice said otherwise.

"You used to…" Joey echoed, his heart sinking.  He was suddenly seeing That Night from a totally different perspective.

"When she laughed…when you all said…I just…I lost all hope," Chandler said softly, his voice raspy.

_~One Year Ago~_

Chandler sat on the steps of Kathy's building, his body shaking.  She really was cheating on him.  He'd never felt so…betrayed.  It wasn't until he was outside that he realized that he wasn't sad that things had ended with Kathy.  The thoughts that were going through his head scared him.  He should be heartbroken; the woman he loved was sleeping with someone else.  But that was just it—Kathy wasn't the woman he was in love with anymore.

Thinking back, Chandler wondered if his relationship with Kathy had been doomed from the start.  And when things started going sour with Kathy, Chandler was more than willing to see things that, perhaps weren't there.

But in the last week, there had been no mistaking the signals.  Monica had definitely been looking at him differently.  And just last night, she had let her hand linger on his leg…let her gaze linger on his face.  He'd never had much luck with women…but there was no mistaking the signals.

Sadly, Chandler realized that even if Kathy hadn't cheated, Chandler would have ended things—he wasn't much of a cheater—his heart belonged to Monica; it always had.

Chandler stood up, as the epiphany hit him with full force: He was in love with Monica, and he had to tell her—tonight.

~Present~

"She was devastated after you left," Joey confessed.  "I saw all the signs…Phoebe did too, but we knew that you were hurting…and that that was the last thing you wanted to hear.  I was reluctant to come out here, but I could tell that there was no stopping Monica.  There was never any doubt in her mind that you were here, and she…she had this desperation about her.  Last month, when she had to miss that dinner with you, she grilled all of us for three days about you.  How you looked, what your demeanor was like, what you said.  She drove us crazy," Joey chuckled.

"I—I don't know what to do," Chandler said stiffly.

"I'm just telling you what I know, Chandler.  I think you should follow your heart.  I think you should do whatever makes _you_ happy.  If that means walking away from all of us, and never seeing us again, then **do it**.  All I want is for you to put yourself first—you deserve nothing less than that."

Chandler looked up at Joey, shock lining his eyes.  He studied Joey's eyes for a long minute, searching for an answer.  Finally, after a deafening silence, Chandler smiled.

"You're a good man, Joey, and a good friend.  I have to admit that after all of this happened…I wondered if you weren't trying to get back at me for a few of my indiscretions as a friend—namely, your sister, and Kathy.  But I always knew that deep down…you truly had no idea what you were doing to me.  I appreciate that you are so willing to do this…I do.  And I have no desire to cut you out of my life.  I want to trust you Joe, and I want to believe that Monica is telling the truth, but—"

"I know.  And I don't think you should do anything, if you don't feel right about it."

"Joe…I'm scared.  I've loved her for so long, I don't know how to stop," Chandler felt tears line his eyes, and his voice trembled as he spoke.

"I know," Joey whispered sadly, and pulled Chandler into a hug.  He wondered if Monica was being sincere: because if she wasn't, and Chandler let himself fall again…he would never, ever recover.

Joey refused to let that happen.

**AN: It's short, but it kinds needed to end there…sorry.  Next chapter later in the week…**


	10. Chapter X

**AN: Okay, whoa, thank you SO much for the reviews!  I can't believe I've topped 100 reviews on this one (If I post 9 more chapters, maybe I'll get to 200, LOL…OMG, I'm so kidding, this is not going to be 18 chapters!!)!  Anyway, I appreciate all of your reviews and your, uh, persistent _urging_ that I continue as soon as possible.  (What, are these chapters lined with crack or something?  LOL.)**

**Well, it's been a looong time, so I may as well say it: Ahem; I do _not_ own these characters (But I do own, and bottle Chandler's _angst_, and I'm gonna start selling it on eBay).  The characters belong to Bright, Kaufman, Crane and Warner Brothers.  I belong to no one.**

The Theory 

_Chapter X_

Night turns to day 

_And I still have these questions_

_Bridges will break_

_Should I go forwards or backwards?_

_Night turns to day_

_And I still get no answers_

('A Whisper'~Coldplay)

"Monica, what's wrong?" Ross grabbed Monica's arm, as she attempted to make her way through the now-thinning post funeral crowd.

"I—uh, I think we should go," Monica stuttered.

"What? Why?" Ross' eyes were lined with worry.

"I—I told him…everything.  He's mad, Ross, I think it's best if we just go."

Before Ross could reply, Rachel and Phoebe appeared.

"What's going on?" Phoebe asked lightly.

"Monica told Chandler why we came, and he flipped.  We're leaving," Ross said numbly.

"Mon, why did you tell him?" Rachel asked.

"I had to…he had a right to know," Monica defended.

"Where's Joey?" Ross asked, looking around the room.

"Did you check by the food table?" Rachel asked instinctively.

The group turned toward the kitchen, as Joey appeared behind them.

"Monica," Joey said softly, though his sudden appearance caused everyone to jump.

"Joey, we were just looking for you," Ross said hurriedly, "Monica told Chan—"

"Chandler wants to talk to you, Monica.  He's upstairs in the guest room," Joey said flatly.

Monica nodded, and began heading toward the staircase.  Joey grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward him.

"He told me what you said.  Please tell me you aren't messing with him."

"I didn't mean to tell him, Joey, but I did mean what I said."

"Fine.  But this is our last chance.  Hurt him, and we will all suffer," Joey let Monica's arm go, and watched as she nodded, and ascended the staircase.

Monica felt her heart lurch, with each step she took toward Chandler's bedroom.  She suddenly felt nauseous, and a little dizzy.  She wondered what he was thinking; she wondered if he was angry, or embarrassed, or sad.  She didn't have to wonder long—as she reached to top of the stairs, she turned to see the bedroom door, slightly ajar, and Chandler sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, and his head hung low.  She walked toward the door tentatively, and pushed the door open completely.

Chandler looked up when the door swung open, and Monica was relieved to see that he seemed to have calmed down significantly.

"Hi," Monica said meekly, as she closed the door behind her.

"Hi," Chandler whispered, "Have a seat."

Monica nodded, and sat down on the bed next to Chandler.  There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and finally, Chandler looked at Monica and spoke.

"I was thinking," Chandler said quietly, "That if you want to take back what you said earlier…about loving me…that's okay.  I know you were upset."

Monica was thrown by Chandler's offer.  She felt a lump forming in her throat, but quickly swallowed it down, and looked at him intently.

"Chandler, do you want to know when I knew I was falling for you?  Because I can pin it down to the moment."

"You…you can?" Chandler asked, surprised.

"Yes.  It was…it was about two months after you started dating Kathy.  I walked into Central Perk, and I saw you there, on the sofa, talking to her.  Actually, she was talking to you, but you were leaned in close, and you were smiling so sweetly.  You reached up, and touched her cheek, and kissed her on the nose when she laughed.  I'd never really seen that side of you, and it made my heart happy.  I guess, um, I guess that's when I developed the crush."

"But that—that was months before that…bet of yours," Chandler said warily.

Monica sighed.  "That stupid game.  When we were talking about it that night, I never really thought we'd do it.  Then Rachel started flirting, and I remember feeling so…jealous.  And I began wondering what would happen, if you had some, you know, secret feelings for Rachel…or Phoebe.  Then Rachel quit, and Phoebe scared you off, and I thought…this is my chance.  I didn't think about the consequences, and I didn't think about your feelings for Kathy:  I was being completely selfish, and I wanted…I wanted nothing more than to…win."  Monica was vaguely aware that she had started to cry—she was more than aware of the fact that Chandler had taken her hand.

"That night…when you kissed me…I didn't see it coming…not at all.  I was so shocked; I couldn't react to what the others were saying.  I looked at them, and laughed at my own stupidity—in all of my efforts to get you to see, I had almost forgotten the point in the first place.  And then I saw how you reacted, and I knew…I knew I'd lost you forever."

"Monica, why…why didn't you tell me any of this before?" Chandler asked softly.

"I…I was scared.  And I knew that you wanted time…what I wanted, more than anything, was your friendship back.  I knew that if I could at least have you in my life, it would be okay.  

Chandler nodded, and stared at the floor blankly for a long minute.  He looked over at Monica, and sighed softly.

"I don't know, Monica.  I—I want to believe that all of this can be resolved but…you have to understand, I don't want to hurt you, but I really can't…I can't just jump into a relationship with you…I—" Chandler stood up, and ran his hands through his hair nervously.

"It's okay, Chandler, I understand.  I really shouldn't have said anything…I know that you are going through a lot right now, and I really don't want to hurt you…"

"I know," Chandler said quietly, as tears began sliding down his cheeks.

Monica stood up, and wrapped her arms around him.  He pulled her close, and they cried on each other's shoulders for several minutes.  When Monica finally pulled away, she felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders.  She looked up at Chandler, and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.  They stared at each other for a minute, both wondering what the other was thinking, both devastated that they could no longer easily read each other's thoughts.

Searching Monica's eyes, Chandler saw in them calmness, and a desperation all at once.  It was unsettling, but at the same time, it was exhilarating.  Allowing the moment to take hold, he leaned forward, and kissed her timidly.

Monica melted into the kiss: she had to fight to keep from jumping for joy.  He was kissing her: she couldn't believe it!  Not wanting the moment to end, she tightened her grip on him, and put up no resistance when they sunk onto the bed. 

She reveled in his soft touch; she absorbed his intoxicating scent, and stifled the dark thoughts that tomorrow, he may not want her—that they only had this moment, before he hid his heart away once again.  She cried as they made love: her heart filled with happiness—and a fear of what was to come.

Chandler watched Monica as she slept; he still loved her, and it still scared him, completely.  He felt like he was coming out of some kind of trance; why had he slept with her?  She would hurt him, and it would be his fault for letting her in again.

But as he watched her sleep, he began to question that theory.  Maybe she wouldn't darken his life: maybe this time, she would bring him into the light.


	11. Chapter XI

**AN: Once again, a hearty THANK YOU for reviewing the story.  Even if it's just a "please continue!" it's good to know that folks are still reading my insane ramblings.**

**Although I try not to be swayed by reviews, there was a huge outcry for me to break up Chandler and Monica, so that's what I'm gonna do now.  KIDDING!  There's just no way for silly ol' romantic me to keep those kids apart…or is there? (Laughs maniacally….)**

_The Theory_

_Chapter XI_

_Have I got the strength to ask? _

_Beyond the window _

_I feel this fear alone _

_Until we have _

_Total honesty _

_If I tremble or fall _

_I'm reaching out in this mourning air_

_Should I feel a moment with you…_

_("Mourning Air"~Portishead)_

A thread of light inched its way across the darkened room, eventually falling across Monica's closed eyes.  She squirmed in protest, then reached across the soft, warm bed in which she was entwined.

One eye opened; and then the other.  Her head lifted ever so slightly from the pillow, and Monica noted sadly that she was alone.  Hazily, she recalled her conversation, and subsequent interaction with Chandler, several hours earlier.  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand; the digital red numbers read 6:15.  She pulled herself into a sitting position, and wondered if it was 6:15 in the evening, or 6:15 in the morning.  The funeral had ended in the early afternoon, but she honestly had no idea how long she'd been out.  It had been weeks since she'd slept really well, and she had gotten very little sleep in the past few days here in Las Vegas.  She had been determined to make everything as easy as possible for Chandler, but in the end, had felt utterly helpless.  Chandler had taken the death badly—and had subsequently closed off tighter than before.  Monica's constant concern for her friend, combined with the jet lag, had exhausted her.

Slowly, deliberately, Monica pulled herself up and out of the warm confines of the bed, and began to get dressed.  She staggered around in the half-darkness of the room, looking for articles of clothing—the sex had been hurried, and passionate, and consequently, she was having one hell of a time locating her bra.  She finally managed to locate it—under the comforter of all places—and proceeded to collect herself, both emotionally and physically.  She had no idea what would happen when she stepped through the door.

~**~

The setting sun glared through the living room window with a shocking intensity, reminding everyone in it that yes, they were in the middle of a desert.  Chandler stood up languidly, and pulled the thin green drapes over the picture window, dulling the light to a warm glow.  

Rachel watched Chandler, as he moved from the window, and plopped back down on the large, overstuffed green sofa.  He looked…terribly exhausted.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his complexion was ashen.  But he also looked more relaxed than he'd been earlier.  Perhaps it was because the funeral was over; but Rachel had a feeling it was something else.  His talk with Monica had obviously gone well; they'd been in there for hours, and just when the rest of them had started to wonder if they should send someone in to mediate, Chandler had emerged from the bedroom, looking disheveled, but calm. He'd told them that Monica had fallen asleep, and that he thought she needed to rest.

But then, so did he.  

Instead, he sat down on the sofa, and talked to them about his father, and about the things he'd been doing over the past year.  And it had occurred to Rachel, that none of them really knew Chandler.  It was like they were getting to know him for the first time; and somehow he knew this, because he never assumed that they all just _knew_; he spoke to them like new acquaintances—and yet, there was a tentative trust, old and worn, that he relied on fervently. And they wondered aloud, what had changed—why was he reaching out now?

He looked pensive, and sorrowful, as he explained his feelings involving his father; the finality of his death, and the regrets he carried still; and he spoke of trust, and his inability to let go of something he'd worked so hard to find—their friendship.  He revealed his deep-seeded feelings for Monica, and the root of the anger he felt over what they had done.  He opened their eyes to his world, and his loss.  

He looked up at the closed door of the master bedroom—the room that once belonged to his father—the room where Will was currently asleep.  He wondered aloud how Will would get by, day-to-day, alone.  Chandler felt a gratitude toward Will, for all he had done for his father, and a responsibility toward him, to care for him in his remaining years the way that Will had cared for his father.  Chandler quietly revealed that Will too, was dying; eventually, inevitably, AIDS would consume Will the way it had consumed Chandler's father.  The thought—the idea, saddened Chandler, but also, in ways that Rachel could not begin to understand, it gave Chandler back strength and a hopefulness that he thought he'd lost.

Eventually, inevitably, Chandler ran out of energy—ran out of words.  After he closed the drapes, he sat quietly, taking in the peacefulness that enveloped them.  He let the others talk, but it soon became evident that the past few emotional days had taken it's toll.  Quietly, slowly, Chandler fell asleep, and his friends were content to simply sit quietly and—watch.

This was how Monica found them, when she finally made her way downstairs.  

They flew back to New York four days later.  And in those four days, Chandler and Monica had not had one minute alone.

That fact frustrated Monica to no end.  Things were strange between them—Chandler looked at her differently, and made it clear that he had not revealed what had happened to any of the others.  On top of that, he had been consumed by the legalities and 'loose ends' following the funeral.

Now in New York, she was determined to get some alone time with Chandler—she had to know where she stood, and how he felt—it was driving her mad.

Chandler seemed to have the same idea; he asked Monica to share a cab with him, as the other four piled into another; and instead of going straight home, Monica went back to Chandler's.

It occurred to her, as they stepped into his building, that she had never been to Chandler's new place.  She was fairly sure that none of them had.  She wasn't quite sure what to expect, as she followed Chandler into his place.  He flipped on the lights, and pulled their bags inside.  Monica scanned the apartment, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was clean; and unlike the apartment he'd shared with Joey, this place seemed more…grown up.  The sofa was a deep olive green, with a matching cherry wood coffee table and end table.  A small, wooden table sat in a rounded breakfast nook in the far corner; a Salvador Dali reprint hung over a red brick fireplace, and a monstrous picture window framed a to-die-for view of the city.

"Chandler, your place is…amazing," Monica said quietly.

"Thanks," Chandler smiled, as he shook off his jacket.

"It looks…nothing like I expected," Monica smiled.

"Yeah…" Chandler replied distantly, then stood, in a trance-like stare, for several long seconds.  He snapped out of it suddenly, and looked at Monica.  "Drink?"

"Do you have Scotch?"

"Yeah," Chandler turned and made his way into the kitchen.

"Uh, on the—"

"Rocks with a twist, I know," Chandler called out, making Monica smile.

She wandered toward the window, her eyes falling onto the small cherry wood, roll top desk that sat next to it.  On the desk, she spotted a small, neatly wrapped box, adorned with a fantastically gaudy silver ribbon.  She reached out, and brushed her hand over the top of it—and suddenly, a dark thought occurred to her; what if Chandler was seeing someone?  It was certainly possible.  Was the gift for her?  She straightened, and backed away from the box, as though she were repulsed by it.  She turned slightly, when she heard Chandler re-enter the room.  He approached, and handed Monica her drink.

"Chandler, I, um, never asked you…if you were, uh, seeing anyone?"  

"Um, no—no…you?" Chandler shifted uncomfortably.

"No," Monica watched Chandler shift his weight, and her eyes once again fell onto the gift.

Chandler followed Monica's gaze, then smiled knowingly.  Her question had terrified him—he thought she was trying to tell him she was dating someone else.  He walked over to the desk, and picked up the box, running his fingers over its smooth, firecracker red paper gingerly.  He extended his arm, putting the gift within Monica's grasp.  She looked at him questioningly, and he chuckled, easing the tension that had been wrapped around them since Las Vegas.

"It's for you.  Happy belated Birthday, Monica."

Monica took the gift, eyeing Chandler warily.  She set down her drink, and inspected the package.  For the first time, she noticed a small, red card, attached to the top; she flipped it open with her index finger, and smiled, when she saw her name, scrawled in Chandler's long, neat script.  Hungrily, she ripped open the package, and pulled the top off of the small white box.

Inside the box, was another box, midnight blue and made of velvet.  Taking a shaky breath, Monica opened the hinged box with a creak.

Inside sat a platinum bracelet, adorned with tiny daisy-like flowers.  In the center of each flower was a shimmering, deep blue sapphire.

Monica remembered this bracelet.  She had tried it on, three years ago.  It was at Christmastime, and she had dragged Chandler out to Rockefeller Center for some last minute shopping.  They had spied the bracelet, and Monica had gushed, saying sadly that someday, she would either be rich enough to buy it, or in love enough to receive it.  It had all been a joke, of course, because she really never had any intention of ever seeing the bracelet again.

"Chandler," Monica whispered, astounded.

"I saw it, a few months before I started dating Kathy.  I was actually going to give it to you last year, but…" Chandler laughed uncomfortably.

Monica felt her throat close up, as she ran her fingers over the bracelet.

"I…I can't accept this," Monica said suddenly, and shut the box.

"What?" 

"I…I don't deserve this," Monica whispered, "After all that's happened, how can you give me something this…amazing."

"It's just an object, Monica.  It's...it's not a promise, or a resolution.  It's just a birthday gift."

"It's…too much."

"Well, it's yours."

An uncomfortable silence formed between them, as they realized that they had much to discuss, and that the extravagant gift brought with it new complications.

"Monica, if you feel uncomfortable accepting the gift, then I'll hold onto it longer.  But—"

"No, it's fine…thank you," Monica smiled.

"I guess, since all of this other stuff has happened…it makes things…weird, huh?"

"A little," Monica nodded.

"I…I never told you…in Las Vegas, how much what you said meant to me."

Monica nodded, but said nothing.

"I think…if we take it slow…it could work," Chandler said quietly.

"I think so too," Monica whispered.

"Let's…let's see what tomorrow brings, okay?"

Monica nodded, "I—I should go.  You look tired."

"You…you don't have to," Chandler said.

"No…but I probably should."

Chandler nodded, and gathered her bags.

"See you soon, then," he said.

"See you…soon," Monica echoed, as she made her way to the door.  She opened it, and turned to look up at Chandler, who was studying the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Happy birthday," he whispered back, and kissed her softly and briefly, on the lips.

She smiled, and walked out of the apartment.

Chandler closed the door, and turned to see the bracelet, sitting where he'd left it.


	12. Chapter XII

**AN**: For those of you who've been asking…**yes**, I will be continuing _Age of Aquarius_, _One For The Road_, and even (gulp) _Wild Horses_…unfortunately, it's gonna be a little longer…sorry!!

On the bright side, _this _one is almost done!

_The Theory_

_Chapter XII_

_And the light has come_

_Bringing warmth to my cold heart_

_Breathing life into my battered soul_

_And he loves me_

_And I am home._

_(Original Poetry, ©2002, SFGrl)_

~Three Weeks Later~

Monica sighed sadly, as she stared up at the rapidly graying skies…a promise that rain would be following soon.

"Great," she muttered irritably, as she gathered her things.  She wasn't sure what they were going to do now, but she may as well take all the food she'd spent so much time preparing.  She piled everything into a couple of bags, then pulled on her long rain jacket and grabbed an umbrella (just in case).

The subway station was crowded, and smelled of stale garbage and urine.  Monica pushed her way through the sweaty crowd, toward the center of the humid station.  She descended the stairs for the Number 14 train, and made her way toward the front end of the platform, before plopping the bags onto the ground.

"Hey, baby, what's in the bag?" a large, menacing looking drunk began stumbling toward her.

Monica ignored the man, turning a cold shoulder and pulling her jacket tight around her neck.

"Oh, c'mon, baby," the man slurred, his dirty yellow hair hanging loosely in his bloated face.

"Leave me alone," Monica said loudly.

The man moved closer, and Monica tensed, and picked up her bags to move.  To her relief, at that moment, the train began its approach into the station.  Monica relaxed her shoulders, and walked further down the platform, and away from the drunk.  She stole a small glance over her shoulder, and was relieved to see that the man seemed to have lost interest; he was now climbing onto a wooded bench, sleep becoming his new priority.

The train rattled through the stations, and Monica stared blankly out the window.  Her thoughts lingered on Chandler; she hadn't seen him in a week, and the last time she had seen him, Joey and Phoebe had been with them.  Sighing heavily, she wondered where the relationship (if there really _was_ a relationship) was headed.  The train pulled to a stop at her station, and she stood and gathered her bags.  It was only when she moved to leave that she realized that she had been sitting in gum.

Growling with frustration, she stalked up the steps of the station, and down the three long city blocks toward Chandler's building.  When she was about a block and a half away, the clouds finally let go, and the rain began pelting her.  She looked at her hands, and only then did she realize that she'd left her umbrella on the train.

She stumbled in a half-run toward Chandler's building, her nerves frazzled and her head throbbing.  As she fell through the large glass main doors, she nearly collided with a well-dressed, snooty looking couple that was preparing to leave.  The woman looked Monica up and down, and snickered slightly, while the man ignored her completely.

She shook her head, and walked into the waiting elevator.  The doors closed, and in the reflective brass-plated doors, Monica caught a glimpse of her appearance.  She looked like a drowned rat, with her flat, sopping wet hair, and streaked mascara.  Before she could do any kind of damage control, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.  Monica stumbled out of the elevator, and stood in front of Chandler's apartment door.  She was about to knock, when the door swung open, and a young, petite blonde woman giggled, as she turned to leave.

"Oh!  Uh, hello," the woman said, her green eyes wide with surprise.

Monica said nothing; she simply glared at the woman until the woman became so uncomfortable that she stepped around Monica to get into the hallway.

"Um, bye Chandler, thank you!" the woman said gaily, then bounced down the hall.

"Mon…what happened?" Chandler tried hard to stifle his chuckle.

Monica glared at Chandler, then shoved her way into his apartment, dropping the bags on the floor as she came in.

"Maybe you were too preoccupied to notice that it's _raining_ outside!" Monica yelled.

"Whoa, Mon, calm down, what's the matter?" Chandler asked, utterly confused.

"Who was that…that, _woman_?" Monica's face was turning crimson; if she were a cartoon character, steam would have been shooting from her ears, and a train whistle would be blowing.

"She's no one," Chandler said, his face turning red.  His eyes dropped to the floor, telling Monica that he was lying.

"Oh, really?" Monica spat coldly.

"Mon, trust me, okay?" Chandler's voice was shaky, and only fueled Monica's anger.

"Then tell me who she is!" Monica screeched.

"What is wrong with you?" Chandler spat angrily.

"Me?  I woke up planning a picnic in the park, only to discover that it was about to _rain_…then I get…_accosted_ by some drunk guy in the subway, I sit in gum, and get caught in the rain because I left my _favorite_ umbrella on the train.  Then, to top it all off, I find a beautiful, young, _blonde_ with the man I love, when he knew I was coming over, meaning that he must have _wanted_ me to see her!" Monica was rambling now, and Chandler stood next to her, his arms folded, and a bemused look on his face.

"Monica, are you even _listening_ to yourself?"

"What?" Monica felt tears form in her eyes, as the stress of the day finally started to take its toll.

"Mon, the woman is the landlord's wife.  She had to come to get the rest of my rent because I inadvertently bounced my rent check.  Yes, I didn't want to tell you, because frankly, it's a little embarrassing," Chandler smiled.

Monica took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.  What was she thinking?  She could have really screwed things up just now, had Chandler decided to take her paranoid rant seriously.  She was walking a thin line, and she hated it.  She opened her eyes, and saw that Chandler was wearing a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you okay?  That guy didn't hurt you, did he?" 

"No, I'm…I'm fine.  I'm sorry, Chandler, I do trust you, I just—" Monica sighed, and looked out the window longingly.

"Okay, look," Chandler, said suddenly, grasping Monica's hand in his, "I want you, to go into the bathroom, and get into the bath.  I'll get you some dry clothes, and we will do our best to salvage what's left of the day, okay?"

Monica nodded numbly, suddenly too weak and tired to argue.

Chandler led her into the bathroom, and drew up a bath, as she shrugged out of her wet clothes.  He took her clothes, and left the bathroom, smiling and kissing her on her cold nose as he left.  Monica stepped into the warm, inviting bubble bath, and sighed, as she sunk into the tub.  She closed her eyes, and let the day drift away from her.

She wasn't sure how long she sat like that, but she was jolted awake when she felt a draft from the door being opened.  She looked up, but no one was there.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and looking down, she saw Chandler's cat, sauntering into the bathroom, and scratching at her litter box.

"Hi there, Holly," Monica smiled, and looked up, as Chandler poked his head in, and dropped a pile of clothes, and a large green towel onto the counter.  He disappeared wordlessly, a mischievous glint lining his eyes.  Monica giggled, and pulled herself out of the tub.  She wrapped the warm, fluffy towel around her, and drained the tub.  She smiled; as she climbed into a set of Chandler's gray sweat pants, and his favorite blue NYU sweatshirt.  Both were way too large for her, but she had never felt more at home.  She breathed in his scent, her grin broadening—there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Opening the bathroom door, she was surprised at how quickly the sky had darkened.  The storm was raging full force now, and Monica found herself counting her blessings that she had made it here before the storm had really hit.  She wandered into the living room, her heart fluttering at the sight before her; the picnic she'd prepared was laid out fully, on the floor in front of the fireplace, where a large fire was blazing.

"Feel better," Chandler smiled, as he walked into the living room from his bedroom.

"About a million times better—thank you," Monica smiled, and walked slowly toward the blanket.

"Well, I'll take your clothes down to be washed later…but the good news is that the gum came off of your jacket relatively easily," Chandler grinned proudly, and approached Monica slowly.

Stunned, Monica shook her head, no longer able to keep her tears in check.

"What?  What'd I do?" Chandler's eyes widened.

Monica looked at Chandler, and smiled through her tears.

"You…you keep doing all these great things for me…and all I do is keep proving to you that I'm not worthy of it all," Monica sobbed.

"Oh, Mon," Chandler pulled Monica toward him, and rubbed her back soothingly, "you didn't do anything…everyone has bad days!  Look I promise you, that I will screw up a lot more in the months to come…if there's one thing I excel at, it's screwing up a good thing."

"I love you," Monica said into Chandler's chest.

"I—"Chandler paused, just short of saying what he longed to…but could not bring himself to, just yet.

"I know," he whispered, and held her tightly the sound of torrential rain filling the night.


	13. Chapter XIII

AN: You guys rock…helping me break my personal top review record, hee-hee! (148, for _The Pact_)  I may stretch this out a bit more; as there are a couple of things I wanna try…bear with me!!

_The Theory_

_Chapter XIII_

_You must remember this_

_A kiss is still a kiss_

_A sigh is just a sigh_

_The fundamental things apply_

_As time goes by_

_It's still the same old story_

_A fight for love and glory_

_A case of do or die_

_The world will always welcome lovers_

As time goes by 

_("As Time Goes By"~Herman Hupfield)_

~One Week Later~

The breeze was crisp and cool, and carried with it the faint scent of hot pretzels, and fresh flowers.

Chandler loved Central Park in at this time of the morning.  It was serenely quiet, yet there were signs of life emerging everywhere.  Chandler took in a deep breath as he jogged past the pretzel vendor, a small smile lighting up his face as he took in the guilty pleasure.  As he turned down toward the east side of the park, his mind drifted back to Monica.  Dinner with her and the others the night before had been a disaster; full of uncomfortable silences and false politeness.  Everything had started out okay, but Monica had seemed jumpy, and the others seemed a bit defensive, and tense.  Chandler had grown increasingly uncomfortable, and had eventually excused himself and left the table.  When he'd returned to the table, the conversation had suddenly stopped, and the paranoia that he'd felt at that moment was overwhelming.  He asked what was going on, and when no one answered, he'd simply stood up, and walked out of the restaurant.  He'd been vaguely aware that Monica had been running after him, calling his name—but he'd ignored her, and had jumped into a taxi before she could reach him.

Chandler's steady jog had intensified with these thoughts; he was now in a full run, dodging other joggers and dog-walkers as he zipped down the trail.

The behavior last night had not been unusual—but it had been worse than usual, and Chandler was tired of it.  He was tired of his friends constantly walking on eggshells around him, as though he was going to blow up at them or something.  He was tired of Monica acting like everything was okay, when he knew that deep down, she still doubted the role she had in his life.  But more than anything else, he was just plain tired.

The nightmares that had begun to haunt him after his father's death had not ceased.  He struggled to figure out what was happening to him, why he wasn't settling back into his life as easily as he'd wanted to.

He knew that part of it was fear.  Fear that he would do something, or say something that would cause him to lose Monica, or the others.  The fear was deep-seeded, and had been there long before Las Vegas.  That fear was what drove him to give Monica that bracelet in the first place.  It had been inappropriate, and rash, considering the point they'd been in their relationship.  He'd been relieved when she'd declined the bracelet—he'd also been a little offended.  But, as was his typical reaction, he'd buried the feelings, and moved on, forgiving her quickly when she'd come in accusing him of cheating a week ago, and letting her vague comments over the past few weeks go.  

Chandler ran at full speed all the way to his building, slowing only when he was forced to cross at busy intersections.  Sweating and panting heavily, he approached his apartment, and was less than surprised to see Monica sitting in front of his door.

"Monica," Chandler whispered between breaths, "what are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," Monica's voice was cold, and her words clipped and tight.

"Okay," Chandler said slowly, as he moved past her to unlock his door.

They walked into the apartment, and Chandler dropped his keys on the end table, and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. 

"Do you want something to drink?" Chandler asked politely, as he moved to the kitchen.

"No," Monica said shortly, as she lingered in the doorway stiffly.

Chandler shrugged, and went into the kitchen.  He re-emerged with a bottle of water.

"Have a seat," Chandler said, then took a long drink from the bottle.

"No, thank you.  I just—I want to know what the hell you were doing last night?" Monica said coolly.

"What?" Chandler looked at Monica crossly, annoyed that she hadn't picked up on the tension that had been around the table the night before.

"You just—took off.  Why?"

"You really don't see it?"

"See _what_, Chandler?" Monica sighed.

"See the way you act when we are all together.  See the way Ross stumbles over his words, the way Joey glares at you…or the way Phoebe was drinking way too much, and was paying attention to anything but the rest of us…or the way Rachel stared at her plate all night.  Don't tell me you didn't notice, and don't tell me I wasn't the cause," Chandler was annoyed at Monica's ignorance of everything—or her insistence to ignore it.

"You're being paranoid, Chandler.  Everything is fine—"

"Everything is _not_ fine!  As much as you want it to be, it's _not_!"

"Well, if it's not, then it's no one's fault but yours," Monica seethed.

"What?"

"Why can't you put all of this bitterness toward us behind you?  What are you so afraid of?"

"How can you ask me that?  You know what I'm afraid of, I—"

"If you don't want to lose us, then you need to stop pushing us away…you need to stop keeping us at arm's length.  We're your _friends_, Chandler."

"Maybe…maybe you're trying a little too hard.  Did you ever think of that?"

"What?"

"You are holding on…so tight…your knuckles are white," Chandler's voice was suddenly filled with the exhaustion he was feeling.

"So…this is my fault," Monica stated flatly.

"It's no one persons fault," Chandler whispered sadly, "none of us are handling this well."

"But—"

"What happened in Las Vegas was a mistake.  We should have never slept together—it made everything much more complicated," Chandler was staring out the living room window, and he could feel Monica staring at his back in shock.  When she said nothing in response, Chandler continued.

"Things were…not normal in Las Vegas, and I'm still coming to terms with all that happened there.  I think I felt the need to reach out, and I think that your reaction, and the reaction of the others, was valid.  But I also think that none of us were really ready to jump back in with both feet.  Last night was proof of that.  

And just like you, I wanted to pretend that everything was okay, and that you and I could just jump into a relationship, because we had sex," Chandler turned to look at Monica.

"I think it's important that you and I work on more fundamental things first.  We need to work on the basics of our friendship.  We need to take a step backward.

You gave me time, and space, and I appreciate that.  But we jumped back into something that was too intense.  Before my father died, I hardly saw you guys.  And suddenly, everyone wants to hang out every single day—but everything is different, and we haven't acknowledged that.  We need to.  I want to be with you Monica, but I've done a lot of thinking, and I think that the only way we can continue is to step out of our relationship, and get to know each other again."

Silence filled the room for a long, stiflingly uncomfortable minute.  Chandler watched, as Monica's face revealed her emotions; shock, confusion, sadness, anger.  She finally looked up at Chandler, and then straightened her shoulders.

"Chandler, we can't move forward if you don't trust us.  You left last night, instead of talking to us, and working out what was happening.  You are right, we need to make changes, but I refuse to take the all of blame for any dysfunction that we have in our group now.  What happened a year ago happened, and we all need to move on.  You aren't the only victim here—all of us are hurting.  You want to step back?  Fine.  But I'm not going to wait forever, Chandler.  I can't."  
"Monica, I never said that you—"

"I'm leaving.  When you finally decide that _we are worthy of being with you_, call us," Monica said coldly.

"Monica, I am not blaming anyone, I—"

"No, of course you're not!" Monica yelled suddenly, her broken heart getting the better of her, "Because God forbid you should be wrong, or anything but the martyr in this ridiculous little dance here!  I'm tired of feeling like I will never be able to make up for my one stupid fucking mistake!  I'm tired of wondering when you are going to come around!"

"Monica, I'm making an effort…I thought you of all people would understand—"

"Why?  Because I love you?  Because we slept together?"

"Because you've always known me better than anyone else!"

"I feel like I don't know you at all!  I feel like a fool, for telling you I love you, only to hear nothing in return…and I feel like, deep down, you know that you will never forgive me, but you don't have the heart to tell me."

Chandler stepped back, astounded by Monica's revelation.  He was quiet for a long minute, and watched as Monica stifled a sob.

"Well," Chandler finally said quietly, coolly, "I'm sorry you feel that way," Chandler turned on his heel, and walked into his bedroom.

He flinched, when moments later, he heard the front door slam.


	14. Chapter XIV

_The Theory_

_Chapter XIV_

_I tried so hard my dear to show that you're my every dream._

_Yet you're afraid each thing I do is just some evil scheme_

_A memory from your lonesome past keeps us so far apart_

_Why can't I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold cold heart_

_("Cold Cold Heart", by Hank Williams)_

Monica closed her eyes, as Chandler began to tell her, once again that she was to blame for his issues.

She was tired of working so hard to get Chandler to come around.  And she told him as much.  He'd said that Vegas was a mistake.  Did that mean that he didn't want her anymore?  Was he trying to let her down easy?  She felt her heart constrict in her chest, and she stifled a sob.  She couldn't believe this was happening; she couldn't believe he was reverting, and telling her he needed more time.

Her patience was wearing thin.

Suddenly, she was yelling at him, her emotions ragged and out of control.  She just could not take it anymore.  He was holding on to something; and he either needed to let it go, or let them go, and acknowledge that he would never forgive them.

She waited for him to argue back, to yell, and to work to save what they had.  To save 'them'.

But he didn't yell—he didn't fight.  He relented, and walked away.  

Monica wasn't sure whether she was mad, or just really, really sad.  She stormed out of the apartment, sobbing hysterically as she made her way down to the street.

She walked into her apartment forty minutes later, her tears still fresh in her eyes.  She wiped her eyes, as Joey walked into the apartment.

"Mon, what's wrong?" Joey asked softly.

"It's Ch-Chandler.  He's…I don't understand why he can't just let this go!"

"What did he say?"

"Nothing!  And I think that was what was the most frustrating of all!  He just…it's like he doesn't even want to try.  I'm sick of making all the effort.  I'm through with him."

"Monica, you don't mean that!  Chandler needs you—"

"No, he doesn't!  I'm tired of nursing his broken, empty heart.  I never want to see him again," Monica grumbled.  In her heart, she knew that she was lying.

Joey, however, did not.

"How can you be so selfish?" Joey yelled, "Yes, he has issues, but he is working on them—"

"No, I really don't think he is.  I think he enjoys making us feel uncomfortable—making us feel guilty," Monica spat.

Joey straightened his shoulders, taken aback by Monica's statements.

"If that's what you think," Joey said icily, "then you don't deserve him," Joey spun around and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door as he went.

Monica sunk onto the sofa, and put her head in her hands.  What was she doing?  She didn't believe any of what she'd told Joey!  So why did she do it?  She felt another onslaught of tears, as she wondered if she'd just lost both Chandler and Joey for good.

~*~

Joey stormed into his apartment, cursing under his breath.  The persistent ringing of the telephone did not lighten his mood.

"Hello?" Joey said shortly, "What?  When?  Okay, what hospital?  Yeah, I'm on my way," Joey said, as he grabbed his jacket.  He hung up, tossed the phone on the counter, and rushed out of the apartment.

~**~

"Hey Monica, have you seen Joey?" Phoebe asked, as she walked into Monica's apartment.

"Not since this morning.  But we had a huge fight, so I doubt he'll be back here," Monica said miserably.

"What happened?" Phoebe asked.

"Nothing," Monica shook her head.  She was in no mood to start another fight.  She'd spent the entire day mentally going over her arguments with both Chandler and Joey.  She finally decided that she needed to talk to Chandler first, so much of the afternoon had been spent trying to get a hold of him.  But he wasn't answering his home phone or his cell phone.  Monica decided that he would come to her when he was ready; she spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning.

"What are you up to, Pheebs?"

"Well, I was supposed to be meeting Joey for dinner at six—it's now seven-thirty, and I haven't heard from him.  It's not like Joey to miss a free meal," Phoebe reasoned aloud.

"He may have gone to see Chandler," Monica said.

"Yeah, maybe," Phoebe said distractedly. 

"Look, Pheebs, I know that you and Joey are close…but he is really mad at me, and I don't want—"

"Mon, what the heck did you two fight about?" Phoebe asked, her eyes revealing her concern.

"I just…I think that I said some things about Chandler that he didn't like," Monica sighed.

"Is this about what happened last night?"

"Kind of.  I got into a fight with Chandler about it, and…I just—I said things I didn't mean…to both of them."

"And Joey took Chandler's side?"

"Yeah…though I'm not surprised.  Joey made his feelings quite clear in Vegas."

"What did he say in Vegas?"

"Basically, he just made it very clear that he was going to protect Chandler, no matter what."

"What did you say that made him so mad?"

"I…I told him I was finished with Chandler…that I didn't want to deal with him anymore."

"You're breaking up with him?" Phoebe asked, surprised.

"We were never together, really.  I mean, we tried, but…I didn't really mean it.  I was frustrated, because I felt like I was the only one putting in any effort."

"You don't think Chandler is making an effort?" Phoebe asked.

"He is…I guess.  But I feel like I am trying a lot harder, sometimes," Monica sighed.

"Well, from what Joey's told me, Chandler's pretty messed up.  It has more to do with his childhood then with anything we did, I guess."

"What makes you say that?" Monica asked, confused.

"Joey said that's what Chandler told him."

"Chandler's never said anything like that to me," Monica said.

"Oh, well don't say anything then, because Joey wasn't supposed to tell me."

"So Chandler and Joey have been able to work things out…why is it so hard for us to do it?" Monica sighed, and sunk deeper into her seat.

"Chandler's feelings for you are a lot more complicated than they are with the rest of us, Mon.  I think he is really worried that he's going to hurt you."

"Why haven't you guys told me any of this stuff?" Monica asked, exasperated.

"We figured Chandler would tell you," Phoebe shrugged.

"I need to talk to Chandler," Monica shook her head, and picked up the phone.

"Okay, but remember, I didn't tell you anything.  I don't even think Chandler's supposed to tell Joey—"

"What are you talking about, Pheebs?"

"You know—patient-doctor privilege or whatever."

"What?  What doctor?"

Phoebe's eyes widened, and her hand flew up to her mouth.

"Phoebe!"

"I—I thought Chandler told you he was seeing a therapist," Phoebe finally uttered meekly.

Monica's jaw dropped, and her eyes closed in disbelief.  She felt awful, for accusing Chandler of not trying hard enough.  And if Joey and Chandler were in fact sharing secrets, Joey had undoubtedly told Chandler what she'd said.  Monica suddenly felt nauseous.

"Mon?  You okay?" Phoebe said suddenly.

"Hmm?  Oh, yeah, I—I'm fine."

"Okay.  I'm gonna go see if Joey's home yet," Phoebe said, as she moved to leave.

"Yeah, okay…I'm gonna…try Chandler again," Monica said quietly.

Monica waited until Phoebe left, then dialed Chandler's number.  After several rings, Chandler's machine picked up.  Monica waited impatiently for the message to finish, then spoke.

"Chandler, it's Monica…please, please call me when you get this.  We need to talk…to work this out.  Please, Chandler, call me back."

She hung up the phone, and wiped a small tear from her eye.  

Where _was_ he?


	15. Chapter XV

AN: Wowsers, thanks again for the reviews!  All I'm gonna tell you about what's to come is this; expect the unexpected.

Oh, and Jenni, I think you spelled _poobrain_ correctly, LOL!

_The Theory_

Chapter XV 

_And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide_

_Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side_

_Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide_

_But I love you…until the end of time_

_Come What May, Come What May_

_I will love you until my dying day_

_("Come What May" David Baerwald)_

Joey sat slumped in a cold vinyl waiting room chair, gnawing on his fingernails.  He wondered if he should call the others; but he didn't want Chandler to be uncomfortable, and besides, his family really didn't know any of them besides Chandler.  He sighed, and decided that it would be best to wait until he got back to Manhattan to tell the others.  Joey was pulled from his thoughts when the elevator door, just a few feet away, dinged, and the doors slid open with a whoosh.

"Hey," Chandler walked into the waiting room, a small bouquet of flowers and a white and pink teddy bear in his hands, "how is she?"

Joey stood to greet his friend, "She's doing well.  And the baby is…tiny and red," Joey shrugged as Chandler laughed, "You brought a lot of stuff," Joey said, gesturing to Chandler's hands.

"Well, actually, I thought Uncle Joey probably needed a gift to," Chandler smiled.

"Good thinking," Joey smiled, "what would I do without you?"

Chandler's smile faltered, for just a moment, "I guess you'd be gift-less," he laughed.

"Hey, you wanna see her?" Joey asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Chandler said, and followed Joey to the nursery.

They stood in front of the long Plexiglas window in silence, both watching Joey's tiny new niece squirm in her bassinet.  The card in the front pocket read, _Fiona Josephine Gardner, 6lbs 4 oz.  6:45pm, November 24._

Fiona was the daughter of Joey's sister Veronica, and her husband, Edward.  Chandler had gotten to know much of the Tribianni clan over the holidays a year ago, when Joey had insisted that he join them for Christmas dinner.  Chandler had been reluctant, at first, but finally decided that if he was really intent on salvaging his friendship with Joey, then he should at least try.  Ironically, Chandler had not spent a great deal of time with Joey that evening, as it turned out that Chandler had gone to high school with Veronica's husband, and the two hit it off.  

Chandler had been awoken by Joey's frantic phone call about two hours ago, telling him to come meet his new niece.  Chandler was touched that Joey had even thought to call him, and made his way out to Brooklyn as quickly as he could.

"She's so…tiny," Chandler whispered, his voice filled with a child-like awe.

"Yeah…do you think we were ever that small?" Joey asked.

"Probably…though with as much as you eat, I doubt you were tiny very long," Chandler smiled.

"Very funny," Joey laughed, and then sobered quickly.  "Uh, Chandler, I—I talked to Monica this morning."

Chandler's smile faded, and he placed a hand gingerly on the glass in front of him.  He continued to stare forward, but it was clear that he was no longer focused on the infants in the nursery.

"Oh?  What, uh, what did she say?"

"She just said you guys were having some trouble…"

"Yeah, you could say that," Chandler laughed bitterly.

"Chandler I—it's none of my business, I know, but…I mean if she is causing you so much pain, then maybe—"

"Joey, I know that you have my best interests at heart, but…but I do love her.  And some of what she said this morning is true.  I just need to…let it all go."

"You need to do what's best for you," Joey argued.

"I don't think…. I don't know that I would be better off without her.  I mean, even when I was really upset…I could never picture my life without her."

Joey nodded, then sighed.  "I was afraid of that," he smiled ruefully.

"Joey," Chandler turned to him, and leaned up against the window with his shoulder, "I really don't want you guys to take sides when Monica and I fight…because we will, there's no getting around that.  She's a very passionate woman, and she is stubborn as a damn bull sometimes…and I have a lot of issues…perhaps too many to be in a relationship…but I don't want what happens between me and Monica come between the rest of you.  Please, promise me you won't let it."

Joey sighed, and looked at Chandler, absorbing the determination that filled his sea-blue eyes.  His first instinct had been to argue, but he knew he had to do this.

"Fine," he finally relented, "I promise."

A broad smile lit up Chandler's face, and caused Joey to grin as well.

"Okay…let's go say hi to the proud parents, and head back to Manhattan, okay?"

Joey nodded, and led Chandler out of the nursery.

~*~

"This just isn't like him," Phoebe said, as she paced through Monica's kitchen, worriedly.

"Pheebs, I'm sure everything is fine.  He's probably with Chandler," Rachel reasoned, as Ross nodded.

"This is my fault, I'm sure," Monica mumbled miserably, as she sunk lower into her white reading chair.

"Mon, don't do this, okay?  They're probably just walking around talking.  I—"

Ross was interrupted when the front door opened, and Joey and Chandler walked in.

"Where the hell have you two been?" Phoebe screeched, as she moved toward them.

"Whoa there, Pheebs, calm down, okay?  Veronica had her baby!"

"Oh!  Yay!  Congratulations, Uncle—hey, why didn't you call us?"

Joey and Phoebe continued to argue, but Chandler had tuned them out. He had locked eyed with Monica, who was looking at him sadly from her seat in the living room. He struggled to read her eyes, but found that he couldn't decide if she was still mad, or if she was just sad.  He bit his lip nervously, and looked at the ground.

"Hey, you guys wanna go get some coffee?" Rachel asked, suddenly pulling Chandler from his thoughts.

The others shrugged or nodded their approvals, and the group began moving toward the door.

"Mon, you coming?" Ross asked, and the other four turned to look at her.

"No, I…I think I'll stay here," she replied quietly.

"Oh, come on, Mon," Rachel and Phoebe both said.

"I don't think—"

"Mon, you should come," Chandler said quietly.

Monica sighed, and stared at the floor for a long minute.  She was torn, because she really didn't want to venture down to the coffee house…but Chandler was reaching out, and making an effort.  While she knew that she should reach back, she still felt that her and Chandler had so much to work out.  Could they really just sit in the coffee house and pretend that everything was okay between her and Chandler, and her and Joey?  She looked up, and was surprised to see that Joey was not looking at her.  He was looking at the floor, and seemed to be struggling to keep a neutral look on his face.

"I…I can't," Monica finally said, and slowly looked at Chandler.  He looked crestfallen, and a bit angry with her for making the decision to stay.  She momentarily wondered if he would stay behind to talk to her.

"Fine," Chandler said shortly, and turned to leave.

"Chandler, wait," Monica stood up, and stared at Chandler's back.

Chandler stopped and straightened, then glanced at the others, who took the hint and walked out of the apartment, only to put their ears to the door after they left.

"I—about this morning," Monica started.

"Mon—I'm sorry about that.  You were right, I need to let go," Chandler turned and stared at the back of Monica's couch.

"I'm sorry too.  I shouldn't have pushed you to do what you didn't want to do…"

"I will try harder, I just—"

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing a therapist?"

Chandler's head shot up, and he looked at Monica, surprised.  He swallowed, and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I…I wanted to.  But I didn't want you to think that you had done something to cause me to…I mean, I didn't want you to blame yourself for my messed up head," Chandler laughed.

"Chandler, I—"

"And…I was embarrassed, too, I guess.  I just figured if you knew that I was…I figured you wouldn't want me anymore," Chandler ran his hand through his hair nervously.

Monica felt a lump form in her throat, and she moved toward Chandler.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," she whispered hoarsely.

Chandler nodded, and looked into Monica's eyes.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

Monica smiled, and let out a sob.  "I know," she said quietly.

Chandler grinned, and moved in to kiss Monica, but was stopped by a sharp, unbearable pain in his abdomen.

"Ahhh," he doubled over in pain.

"Chandler, what's wrong?"

"I don't know…oh, God!" Chandler felt his knees buckle, as he collapsed to the floor.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Monica said hurriedly, and moved to the phone.

But Chandler couldn't hear her.  The pain had become too intense, and his ears were ringing.  He was vaguely aware that the other four had flown into the apartment, (proof that they had been eavesdropping) before losing consciousness completely.

_AN: okay, yeah, you all probably saw that coming, lol.  Wow, I didn't think I'd get this one done this week, but as it turns out, my boss and I went out and got really drunk last night, so I am home sick today, praying to the porcelain gods.  Um, if this doesn't make sense…blame the fierce hangover._


	16. Chapter XVI

_The Theory_

_Chapter XVI_

I have a friend I've never seen 

_He hides his head inside a dream_

_But only love can break your heart_

_Try to be sure right from the start_

_Yes, only love can break your heart_

_What if your world should fall apart?_

_("Only Love Can Break Your Heart" by Neil Young)_

"Order a blood gas and an Upper GI series, and page Dr. Thomason," the dark-haired attendant barked, as the paramedics and nurses wheeled the gurney through the stark white halls of the ER.

"Chandler?" Monica was jogging next to the gurney, and had a tight grip on Chandler's limp hand.

"Miss, you will need to wait here," the nurse said loudly, as the gurney turned the corner and boomed through a set of brown swinging doors.

"What's wrong with him?  Is he going to be okay?" Monica asked shakily, as the nurse led her into the waiting area.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse replied vaguely, and disappeared down another corridor.

Monica turned to see the rest of her friends looking up at her expectantly.  She shrugged slowly, and plopped onto a chair next to Joey.

"He'll be okay, Mon," Joey said quietly, and rubbed her arm reassuringly.

"I know…he has to be…there's too much to say…" Monica sighed, and laid her head on Joey's shoulder.  "Joey…I…I didn't mean what I said earlier…I love him, so much."

"I know, Mon…so do I," Joey wrapped his arms around Monica securely.

Hours passed, and there was no word on Chandler's condition.  Monica was certain that she was going to go out of her mind, if she didn't find something out.  She pestered the staff constantly, and paced around the waiting area.  In an attempt to calm her down, Ross suggested they talk about Holiday plans.  Monica sat down for a moment, but shot back up when a doctor approached.

"I'm looking for the Bing party?" the doctor announced.

"That's us," Monica waved furiously, and watched intently as the doctor approached.

"My name is Dr. Thomason.  Are you Mrs. Bing?"

"No…no, I'm Chandler's girlfriend, Monica."

"Monica, please have a seat.  Chandler has what we call a duodenal ulcer.  Basically, Chandler has a lesion, caused by bacteria, in his duodenum.  Now normally, this condition can be treated with a series of antibiotics."

"But he can't do that?" Monica asked, her voice shaky.

"Eventually, yes.  But Chandler was experiencing some hemorrhaging, which needed to be controlled.  Has he been unusually tired and/or irritable lately?"

"He…he sleeps a lot," Monica said suddenly.  How had she not noticed that before?

"The stomach acid has worked its way through the duodenal wall, and hit s blood vessel.  We attempted to cauterize this endoscopically, but the tear was too large.  We had to operate.

He came through the surgery fine, and he is recovering now.  I will have the nurse take you up to recovery, and you'll be able to see him in an hour or so."

"Thank you, doctor," Monica smiled, and stood with the doctor.

"You're welcome, Monica," the doctor nodded, and left the waiting area.

Monica walked into the darkened room hesitantly, and closed the door behind her softly.  As the door closed, it cut off the busy sounds of nurses and doctors walking back and forth, of the sound of children in the adjacent waiting room, and of phones ringing and call buttons sounding.

It also cut off most of the light in the room.

Monica stumbled into the room, and flipped on a small desk lamp that sat on a table next to Chandler's bed.  With the outside sounds muffled, Monica listened to the hush-hush of the ventilator, and the steady rhythm of the heart monitor.

Chandler looked pale under the dim florescent bulb that glowed a ghoulish-green onto his face.  The large medical bed made him look small, and child-like.  Several tubes and wires protruded from his white and blue medical gown, two of them connected to clear, jellyfish-like bags that hung from the aluminum pole on the right side of the bed.

A brown vinyl chair was sitting in the corner of the room.  Monica pulled the chair up to the bed, and sat down slowly, before taking Chandler's hand—careful not to disturb the tubes that were taped to the back of his hand.

"Chandler?  Can you hear me?  The, um, the nurses thought that you might be waking up soon.  Um, anyway, you really scared us earlier.  When you…when you passed out, and I couldn't wake you up…I had…" Monica stifled a sob, and took a shaky breath, "I had this awful vision…and I thought I'd lost you.  I thought I'd never be able to tell you how much…how much I need you.  How I always have," tears slid down Monica's cheeks, as she ran the back of her other hand under her nose, and sniffled loudly.  She gripped Chandler's hand, and let out a loud sob.  "I'm so sorry—"

"Mon," Chandler's raspy voice caused Monica to look up sharply, and a wide grin melted across her face.

"Chandler," Monica's shoulders dropped with relief, and her eyes shone.

"Don't cry," Chandler whispered softly, and lifted his free hand to touch her face tenderly.

"Oh, God Chandler, you have no idea…no idea what the past few hours were like…"

"I can…I can see it in your eyes," Chandler smiled warmly, and placed his hand on the back of her head, when she dropped it gingerly onto his chest.

Chandler closed his eyes, his body no longer able to put up a fight to keep him awake.  The other four had come and gone, but Monica had come back in after Rachel had left, and she now sat in the brown chair, losing her own battle with consciousness.

Chandler smiled, as he drifted into a wonderland of dreams.  Dreams that were, for the first time in years, filled with the promise of a brilliant future.

_AN: Oh, happy day, this one is just about done! Um, I had to look up a bunch of big doctor-words on the Internet…and I blatantly plagiarized a line from "The X-Files"…ten points if you can tell me what it is! ;-P_


	17. Chapter XVII

_AN: Yay!  Thanks to all you multiple-reviewers for pushing me over the 200 mark!  And 10 points to Jess, Exintaris and catnamedzane—way to go you X-philers you, lol.  It's a sad day when I can't even think up my own dialogue!  Anyway, as you may have noticed, this fic is slowly melting into a steaming pile of poo—I personally hate the last two chapters, so this will most likely be it for this one (17's my lucky number anyway!). Thanks heaps for the reviews, and for sticking with me through this hair-brained idea!! _

_Oh, uh, Jenni—it's spelled _juvenile_, lol. _

_~A_

The Theory 

_Chapter XVII_

_When I was a kid I thought_

_I wanted all the things that I haven't got_

_Oh, I learned the hardest way_

_Then I realized what it took_

_To tell the difference between_

_Thieves and crooks_

When all along it was me and you 

_("Macy's Day Parade" by Green Day)_

No one will ever really understand how he felt that day; how rejected, dejected, lost and confused he'd been as he disappeared into the city streets.  There are no words for that bottomless pit-like feeling one gets inside their soul when their life unravels.

There are people in the world who never experience this feeling; who never truly understand what it's like to feel completely and utterly rejected by the world.  Then there are others, who will live with the feeling their entire lives.  The emotions can be buried in a sea of un-reality.  And they can resurface at anytime.

Chandler never truly recovered from his parent's blatant rejection of him.  The dark emotions that he'd carried with him for years and years were due to several unintentional, thoughtless actions that scarred him permanently.  In the years to come, he would have trouble maintaining relationships, romantic and otherwise.  He would find himself drained of all self-confidence and self-worth.  And he would come to accept his place in the cold, cruel universe with blasé apathy.

Then he met five people that changed his life.

Chandler had a way of hiding his insecurities, using humor as a defense mechanism.  If others were going to laugh at him, he would make damn sure that it was his jokes they were laughing at.

Ross, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the perceptions of others.  In Ross, Chandler found a person who was happy to become fodder for Chandler's wit.  Not only did Ross seem perfectly content to live as the butt of Chandler's constant jokes, but also he immediately took Chandler in, when it became clear that that was what he needed most.

Ross didn't have to invite Chandler over for Thanksgiving dinner in their college years—but he did, twice, despite the fact that none of the Geller's seemed all that fond of him.  Chandler had always been grateful for Ross' generosity, and relied on his friend's goofy antics to build his own self worth.

As the years went by, Chandler unconsciously clung on to certain qualities that each of his friends held, in the same way he clung onto Ross.  For Chandler, Rachel was an unattainable beauty, who, when she'd suddenly run back into their lives (soaking wet and in a wedding gown!), was so filled with self-doubt and dependence on others, that Chandler felt a need to become a guiding force in her journey toward total independence.  The role helped him build a certain amount of confidence…it made him feel needed.  From Phoebe, Chandler drew a resilient strength that awed him, and scared him simultaneously.  Chandler never doubted Phoebe, when she claimed that they were soul mates.  He felt, in his heart, that it was true, and he felt that while Phoebe had not literally saved his life yet, in her own special way, she'd saved him from himself, and for that, he loved her unconditionally.

Joey embodied the childhood that Chandler never had.  He was at once his best friend, and his fiercest protector.  Of all of his friends, Chandler never really doubted Joey's friendship; he could see through Joey better than anyone else, and he loved him like a brother.

Then there was Monica.  From the day he met her, Chandler felt bound to Monica.  She fueled his fantasies; she became everything he needed, wanted and longed for.  He knew, deep down, that he'd loved her for years.

Which was why that night had stung him so badly.  Not only did it resurface all of his insecurities and imbedded emotions, it made him realize that he was not as secure in his relationships as he'd led himself to believe.

His paranoia and anxiety nearly destroyed him again.  But, unlike the incidents with his parents, he had a much stronger support system around him; his friends stubbornly refused to let him go, forcing him to face his demons, and let them love him.

~Five Months Later—Chandler's Birthday~

"Perhaps you would like to move to a smaller table?" the waiter prodded for the third time that evening.  

Monica sighed, and looked around the restaurant, before shooting Chandler an apologetic look.

"I…suppose we should…it's been almost two hours," she relented, and stood up.

"I'm so sorry, Chandler.  I have no idea what could possibly be keeping all of them," Monica took Chandler's hand, as they took a seat at a table for two.

"It's fine," Chandler smiled weakly, and gave Monica's hand a squeeze, "I'm happy that you are here with me tonight."

"I'm so mad at them!" Monica continued angrily.

"Monica, it's fine.  Let's just enjoy dinner, okay?" Chandler's smile became more sincere.

Monica smiled, and took a deep breath.  "Okay," she said quietly.

"Hey, I think I'm making some progress here…I haven't bolted from the restaurant yet," Chandler chuckled.

"Ha ha," Monica shook her head, "I am proud of you, though.  You seem so much more comfortable with…everything."

"You mean I seem to fit into my skin better?  I feel the same.  I think…no, I know that I'm going to be okay…as long as you are with me."

"You'll be okay no matter what," Monica said confidently, "But I'm not going anywhere."

~*~

"Now if any of the others are in there," Chandler motioned to Monica's closed apartment door, as the two made their way down the hallway of the building, "I want you to be nice."

"Oh no, they are getting an earful," Monica grinned mischievously, and moved to unlock the door.

"Mon—"

Monica swung open the door, and flipped on the lights.

"Surprise!" came a dozen voices, from all around the room.  The apartment was filled with people, and decorated meticulously…a sign that Monica was in on the whole thing from the beginning.  

A monstrous grin broke across Chandler's face, as he scanned the room, and spotted the other four, all with cheesy, proud smiles on their faces.

"Happy Birthday, Chandler," Monica whispered into his ear, as they made their way fully into the apartment.

"Dude, we SO got you!" Joey giggled, as he bounced around Chandler.

"You so did, dude," Chandler laughed.

"Monica said you really kept your cool at the restaurant," Phoebe said, as she and Rachel approached.

"Hard to believe, but yes, I did," Chandler chuckled.

"I knew you would.  Everyone else thought my plan was 'dangerous'," Phoebe said.

"Leave it to my _soul mate_ to practically giving me a heart attack," Chandler laughed.

"Well, I _do_ owe you one," Phoebe said seriously, but soon broke into an incredulous smile.

Chandler laughed, and pulled Phoebe into a hug, "Thanks, Pheebs."

"Happy Birthday," Phoebe said into his chest.

"Open mine next," Rachel said excitedly.  The party had slowed, and only the six friends remained in the apartment.

"Okay," Chandler smiled, and began to unwrap Rachel's gift.

"So Chandler, on your list of top birthdays, where does this one rank?" Phoebe queried.

"I dunno, it depends on what Rachel got me," Chandler joked, and winked at Rachel.

Rachel stuck out her tongue playfully, making everyone laugh.

Chandler pulled open the yellow box, to reveal a gorgeous Breitling wristwatch.

"Wow, Rach…thank you so much!" Chandler pulled the watch out and slipped it onto his wrist.

"_Geez_, Rach," Ross said, his eyes wide.

"What?" Rachel shrugged, as Ross shook his head.

"So…how _does_ the birthday rank?" Phoebe asked.

"Wait, Monica hasn't given her gift yet!" Joey pointed out.

"I'll…I'll give him mine later," Monica smiled shyly, prompting simultaneous groans and 'woohoo's' from the others.

"Even without the wonderful gifts," Chandler said seriously, "This is the best birthday ever!"

"Yay!" Phoebe smiled.

"Thanks, you guys, this really does mean a lot to me."

"Well, _you_ mean a lot to _us_," Joey smiled sincerely.

Touched by all that his friends had done, Chandler blinked back tears, and pulled Joey into a hug.  In spite of all that had happened, he knew that he would have never felt at home anywhere else but here, with these people.  

~*~

"Ugh!  Who didn't use a coaster!  Oh, I know who it was…it was that leggy blonde that your coworker Nick brought.  She was eyeing you all night, and she _would_ do something like this to piss me off…" Monica ranted, as she cleared the remaining dishes from the living room.  The other four had just left, and Chandler sat back on the sofa, with a bemused look on his face.  He really and truly did love this woman.  He was about to tell her so, when he noticed that she had stopped ranting about the coasters, and was staring at him.

"Chandler, yes or no?" she said.

Chandler blinked; suddenly panicked when he realized he had _no idea_ what Monica had asked him.

"Uh…yes?" Chandler mumbled unconvincingly.

"You have no idea what I said, do you?" Monica put her hands on her hips to emphasize her statement.

"Sorry, I was—"

"Ignoring me?  Or were you dozing off?"

"I was thinking about how much I love you," Chandler grinned.

"Psh," Monica shook her head, and took a seat on the sofa next to Chandler, "Nice one Bing."

"No, I really was, I—"

"Okay, okay…you get a freebie.  Consider it a birthday gift."

"Does that mean I don't get a gift from you?" Chandler furrowed his brow.

"Oh no, you get a gift," Monica smiled seductively, and stood up, before pulling Chandler to his feet.

Chandler wrapped his arms around Monica, and kissed her passionately.

"I really do have another gift for you," Monica grinned, and pulled a neatly wrapped gift from the coffee table.

"Mmmm, I think I want you more," Chandler groaned.

"Open it," Monica giggled, and handed Chandler the package.

Chandler ripped the paper off the box impatiently, and then lifted the lid.  He pulled off the red tissue paper, and picked up the rectangular wooden frame.  Inside the frame, was a photo of the six friends, seated at Central Perk. Kathy had taken the photo; Chandler remembered this day—he and Kathy had been at Central Perk talking, when the others had come in to join them.  Joey had a camera with him, because he'd told his photographer girlfriend that _his_ hobby was photography—thus, he'd started carrying a camera everywhere.

The relationship had lasted two weeks.

Joey had the idea that they needed a photo of the six of them, and Kathy had volunteered to take it.  Chandler had forgotten all about the photo until this moment.

"Wow, where did you get this photo?" Chandler asked, looking at Monica.

"I, uh, I've had it for a while.  Joey asked me to get the film developed one day, and—"

"How come none of us got one?" Chandler smiled.

"I—I always meant to get copies, but…Chandler, do you remember that I told you the moment I fell in love with you?"

"Yeah," Chandler nodded.

"This was that day," Monica said quietly, as she pointed at the photo.

Chandler looked back down at the photo, this time focusing only on Monica.  For the first time, he noted that Monica was not looking toward the camera—she was looking at him.

"Wow," Chandler said, stunned.

"I wanted you to see what I saw," Monica said.

"I see…I…I love you," Chandler pulled Monica toward him.

"I love you, too," Monica wrapped her arms around Chandler's neck, her platinum and sapphire bracelet sparkling in the lamplight.

~The End~


End file.
